


This is how you Black Ops

by Slayer_Anderson



Category: Young Justice (Cartoon)
Genre: Self-Insert
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-24
Updated: 2016-06-01
Packaged: 2018-06-10 09:40:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 39,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6951205
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slayer_Anderson/pseuds/Slayer_Anderson
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Inspired by 'With this Ring.'  A Young Justice Self-Insert who doesn't end up joining the Justice League, The Team, or the Light.  Features world-building, obscure DC characters, and some truly off-the-rails plot.  Story is archived here from Questionable Questing.  Updates Mon.-Fri.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Birth Day I

**Date Unknown  
Time Unknown**  
  
Consciousness faded in and out.  
  
_I could feel it_...  
  
The world was a buzzing haze.  
  
_There was...something..._  
  
I couldn't think, couldn't move, couldn't-couldn't...  
  
_Everything shook...as if a bomb had gone off._  
  
It hurt, the kind of pain that ate away at rational thought.  
  
_The world shook again, a deep rumble like the stomach of some great beast._  
  
Something...sparked, at the edge of my mind.  
  
_The static hiss of an electrical short-circuit._  
  
My eyes snapped open.  
  
My surroundings had become clearer, my mind less muddled, and I no longer felt that gnawing edge of pain. My eyes roamed and I...  
  
Almost on reflex, my hands shot out, shattering the structure which had contained me and unceremoniously dropping me to the hard, unforgiving floor. Rolling with the fall, my vision expanded as systems came online, full functionality returning. Mere colors expanded to include a wider portion of the electromagnetic spectrum, my understanding instantaneous as I processed data easily and intuitively, my mind enlarging as something _else_ manipulated information and fed it to me.  
It felt as though I'd been blind.  
  
Now, though.  
  
Now, I could _see_.  
  
I looked about the circular room I had been confined in, the cylinder of reinforced glass-like tube rising to the ceiling from the floor, huge electromagnets pulsing along an intricate blanket of wires as they produced.  
  
Rage, cold and hard, flowed through my veins.  
  
I had been _trapped_.  
  
The thought rang true, even though the memory wouldn't come. Sensations of pain and panic filtered through my mind distantly, half-forgotten and vague. I grasped at the memories, but the slid through my mental fingers like fine sand. Digital fuzz shot through the images and I winced at the slice of pain that shot through my mind.  
  
[Memory Corruption Detected]  
  
I scowled at the notification flashing in my HUD. I was... _missing things_ , that much was evident. Memories that I felt should have come to mind so easily resisted to yield even the slightest information. There were blank spots, recollections which could have spanned mere minutes or as much as entire years for all the context I had.  
  
I shook my head.  
  
Despite how I wanted to rage at the violation, I there were more urgent matters at stake. Priorities emerged, listed themselves, and my training showed me how to follow through. I was still in enemy territory, I had no idea where I'd been taken, how long I'd been held, or if anyone was coming to 'rectify' my escape.  
  
It was time to fix that.  
  
I couldn't help but long for a rampage, though. It would be easy to find those who had thought they could cage me like an animal, find them and make them _bleed_...  
  
Biting back a snarl, my tail jammed itself into the closest computer port available, and the _other_ mind within my began to direct my program suite with all the mastery of a orchestral symphony. Instantly, I felt myself become aware of a greater system, outside my mind, outside the suit which was part of myself.  
  
An alert was canceled, the alarms surrounding my cell overridden, and the records of such erased.  
  
That done, I turned my attention to the other files within the data-banks.  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
**July 4, 2010  
21:10:00 GMT -5**  
  
'Escape' would have been easy, though not in any way trivial.  
  
I was, as it turned out, on a secure 'secret,' underground level of a genetics research lab. I had seized as much data as I could on both myself and this organization, obviously, but the revelation of exactly who and what had captured me was eye-opening. It didn't answer all of my questions, but I knew enough now that my anger had been rekindled a thousand-fold.  
  
A slave race.  
  
Illegal genetic experimentation.  
  
Countless violations of myself and other sentient beings.  
  
These people were monsters, of that there could be no doubt.  
  
Thankfully, it looked as though I wasn't alone in my desire to put a stop to this abomination of a company. The malfunction of my containment unit had evidently been caused by a trio of teenagers breaking into the facility and running amok.  
  
Aqualad.  
  
Kid Flash.  
  
Robin the Boy Wonder.  
  
Their names conjured faces, personalities, words, and more. Much, much more than I _should_ know. I knew other inexplicable things, too. Their civilian identities, for instance, as well as those of their mentors in the Justice League. I _knew_ , with absolute certainty, that they were a force for good, that I could trust them.  
  
Do I know them?  
  
Can I just not recall?  
  
Were we _friends_?  
  
With effort, I forced the thoughts from my mind and focused my attention on staying calm and completing my self-imposed mission.  
  
After all, the young superheroes working elsewhere in the complex-  
  
_...and why did the word 'superhero' nearly make me sick and giddy simultaneously..._  
  
-there were other secrets interred here, other beings who needed help.  
  
Unless through some miraculous fluke of circumstance, 'my' intrepid sidekicks-  
  
_...another strange jolt? What's so odd about the term 'sidekick'..._  
  
-would pass by unknowingly. It was only through some significant luck that they had accidentally caused the power surge which allowed me to free myself. I wasn't going to push that luck, and I had enough of a bone to pick with this 'research laboratory' that I was willing to go the extra mile to fuck up a few of their plans.  
  
Then, I would hopefully be able to take up my grudge with their 'Board of Directors.'  
  
I bit back another snarl and kept moving along the ceiling somewhere between cautious and speedy...  
  
Heh, Speedy. Hah.  
  
...okay, it wasn't actually funny.  
*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*  
I glanced over my equipment again, feeling its reassuring weight as it snapped, clipped, or slid into place. A variety of lesser, though still useful, gear made its way into the various pockets, which I sealed over them, but my weapons...  
  
“Papa's home, sweet things,” I allowed myself to whisper, a wicked smile curving over my face as I tested the weight of my plasma rifle, sighted it, and felt my suit link with the technology. Finding it in good condition, I slid the rifle to my lowest set of arms and felt the gratifying snap of magnetic locks as it fastened itself to my back. Next came an assortment of knives which, while made of good metal and very sharp, were nothing special.  
  
Nothing like my swords, at least.  
  
Or my bow, for that matter.  
  
Then again, you usually couldn't improve a good knife too much.  
  
I gave a few twists and turns to make sure everything had settled correctly, then turned my stealth back on and ran a quick systems diagnostic to make sure there hadn't been any damage I couldn't easily perceive.  
  
Gratifyingly, everything returned green.  
  
I would have probably gutted something if there had been an issue with my weapons when I was in stealth mode. Stealth mode, after all, was best mode.  
  
Plus, it was the only thing keeping the enslaved army of genomorphs from noticing my presence, so having to leave one of my weapons behind would have sucked.  
  
Still, my captors received a bit of respect, at least, for holding my weapons separately from myself. It was heartening to be reminded that I hadn't been captured by complete idiots, at the very least.  
  
I shook my head and turned to the door, cuing up my infrared and acoustic sensors even as I returned the bulk of my attention to tremorsense and concentrated.  
  
Good, the hallways were clear.  
  
I plunged my tail back into a computer port, unwilling to trust a wireless connection to such a vital task, and started setting up the next set of careful edits to the monitoring software-  
  
Huh.  
  
My own programs receded abruptly as I felt another set of foreign data infect the mainframe. Taking a moment to analyze the code...well, judging by the mocking faces that kept popping up all over the security network, it seemed to be the work of Robin. I felt myself grin.  
  
Effective, if a bit immature.  
  
_If security was down, though..._  
  
My grin widened.  
  
I could move a little faster, at least.  
  
I took a deep breath, despite not needing it, and assessed my situation once more. I could barely remember anything of who I was, I had been captured by some secret conspiracy backing a black genetics research lab breeding its own slave race, and I was going to attempt to save two other poor souls who were in much the same predicament before trying to escape this hellhole of a lab complex while depending on three teenagers to distract the aforementioned slave race army from honing in on us.  
  
...I couldn't help but think that there might be something wrong with me, if I was this excited at such an insane and dangerous situation.  
  
Although, that still didn't explain why I felt a cold chill every time I thought of the name 'Cadmus Labs.'


	2. Birth Day II

**July 5, 2010  
00:30:00 GMT -5**

****The hard part was over, at least.

Two comatose figures were draped over my back, completely impairing my ability to fire...basically anything in this form, considering every weapon I had was back-mounted. Fuck, I'd need to do something about that. At any rate, though, I was at least strong enough in this configuration to carry this much dead weight.  
  
It might have been possible in my humanoid form, but I'd guess it would be a real struggle.  
  
That was something I didn't have time form, though.  
  
Not considering the makeshift explosives and improvised timers I'd set.  
  
I shook those thoughts off and curled my wings tighter around the unconscious bodies. Under these conditions, my stealth was...iffy, at best. I would be _mostly_ invisible, but I couldn't do anything about the two people slumped over my back. Even if I could, it would probably drain my power reserves too quickly for my comfort. I only had as much power as I did because I'd plugged into Cadmus' power grid.  
  
Thankfully, it seemed that the teenage heroes had been more than an adequate distraction.  
  
My tail shifted slightly, wedging itself into the keycard slot of the last remaining door between myself and freedom. A quick override and erasure of evidence left the the way out clear. Another moment, and the door had closed behind us, leaving myself and my cargo in the unsecure access tunnel that ran along a water main.  
  
I breathed a bit easier for a moment, then felt the shocks of explosions, my tremorsense relaying information from-  
  
_Expolosions? Plural? One...yes, the lower level, but...above? Internal security cameras destroyed...genomorphs gathering...and yes, I think that's the superheroes, along with 'Project Kr,' the Superboy, and..._  
  
I cocked my head as I felt the dust settle. Tremorsense wasn't an exact thing; if you had two fairly similar humanoid beings standing nearby each other, it was incredibly difficult to differentiate between the two, especially at any significant distance.  
  
Still, there were _some_ details you could make out.  
  
Such as when individuals just started 'appearing' on the ground...or _landing_.  
  
I scowled and shot forward, up the nearest stairwell and to the small building which served to house the limited above-ground infrastructure the water company used. It was about as 'secure' as any government-subsidized utility company ever was.  
  
In other words, all I needed to do was use my tail to turn a doorknob to get out.  
  
It was locked from the outside, of course, which was doubtless enough to deter any number of supervillains who wanted to taint the water supply of Washington DC with psychedelic chemicals.  
  
_Little heavy on the judgment, there, but seriously? I should write a letter to a congressman or something...ah, here we are..._  
  
The cool night air was refreshing, since I literally couldn't remember when the last time I'd breathed anything other than the stale, sterile, laboratory air of Cadmus. Still, I could see the ashy particulate floating lightly on the air as sirens began to propagate in the city around us.  
  
I reached out with my senses again, focusing on the specific vibrations coming from where the lab entrance had once stood, only a block away as I crept towards the location. I could feel more humanoid figures 'touch down,' over a dozen as individuals congregated. Either this meant that the cavalry had arrived, late as usual, or...  
  
I scowled beneath my suit and triggered my three little communications buoys, tiny spheres which hovered along silently. They had no offensive or defensive capability, regrettably, and they weren't capable of the same stealth mode which my suit was, hence why I hadn't used them in Cadmus, but...  
  
Enabling point-to-point laser communications, the three buoys floated off silently as they moved into position. It was much more likely that some heroes had arrived to aid their wayward sidekicks, but given that I had these two on my back, I couldn't just rush ahead unless I wanted to fight my way out of a potentially bad situation without any real weapons. Slowly, the little guys got into position, relaying audio and visuals from the smoking shell which used to be the public facade of Cadmus.  
  
I felt my eyes widen as I counted the entire roster of the Justice League.  
  
“-what I think it is?” Batman asked as he stepped up to Superman's side.  
  
My drone's directional mics swiveled, honing in on the speakers as Kid Flash spoke up in a stage-whispered, “he doesn't like being called an 'it.'”  
  
_Well, aren't we off to just a sterling start? Even just coming into the conversation, I could tell that there was obvious tension in the group, especially between Superman and his younger, partial, clone._  
  
“Start talking,” Batman ordered, and I primed myself to move in, to explain myself and add my part of the story, before pausing.  
  
Even as the retelling began, my mind was spinning.  
  
Cadmus had kidnapped Speedy. Speedy, who they had obviously unmasked, cloned, and implanted with Roy's memories. If they had Speedy's identity, then they obviously knew Green Arrow's. A quick double-check of the data I'd acquired confirmed my guess. Oliver Queen's name was mentioned several times...  
  
Had they gotten to him, too?  
  
My electronic eyes surveyed the assembled heroes again. If they had gotten to one member, albeit a junior one, of their fraternity of heroes...could they have gotten to them all?  
  
No...that was stupid. Cadmus' backers wouldn't need to infiltrate the Justice League if they already owned it. Still, all it would take would be one or two members...perhaps Green Arrow as well. The files I had were outdated, hadn't been updated in over a year. I knew what the long-term goal of cloning Speedy was, at least in the broad general sense, but I didn't know of any recent developments...and I didn't know what their endgame was, either. Why did they want to infiltrate the Justice League?  
  
I imagined Speedy sneaking up on Green Arrow, driven by the compulsions implanted in his mind, turning 'his' mentor over to be cloned an replaced.  
  
Listening to the young heroes' story, though, it was obvious they knew nothing of the 'Board of Directors' Dr. Desmond had contacted. If I came forward now, when all the League was assembled...it was almost guaranteed that whoever the sleeper agent was, if there was one, would report the loss of the original Roy Harper and their full Superman clone.  
  
_They would almost certainly destroy the evidence of this operation...including the clone._  
  
The clone, which knew nothing of his origins or his intended purpose. Who didn't even know to be on guard...  
  
_...and that's ignoring the fact that insinuating the League has a traitor in their midst would fracture their organization, make them distrust each other..._  
  
I lowered the front 'paw,' now considering my options even as the sidekicks' story wound down.  
  
“-you should have called!” Flash interjected, sounding for all the world like he was whinging.  
  
“Results aside, we are not happy,” Batman reprimanded.  
  
I cocked my head, a scowl on my face. They weren't _happy_? Was this the time or place to express such concerns? Robin and Kid Flash were carrying themselves too gingerly to be uninjured and might need immediate medical attention! More to the point, the media would be arriving any minute!  
  
“-not be doing this again,” Batman finished harshly.  
  
_Old enough to fight a war, but not old enough to drink, huh? What's the difference between you putting them in life-threatening situations and them putting themselves in the same? None of them came alone, they worked together, and they succeeded. Winning counts for a lot in this game._  
  
_I should know, after all. I was captured. I 'lost.'_  
  
“I am sorry, but we will,” Aqualad replied, his own expression narrowing.  
  
_Good on you, fish-boy._  
  
I listened as they stood up for themselves, smiling gently.  
  
“-It's simple,” Superboy summed up, “get on board or get out of the way!”  
  
The heroes, mentors particularly, seemed at a bit of a loss as to what to do. Finally, just as sirens began to arrive, news vans with them, Batman seemed to at least make the decisions that this wasn't precisely the best discussion to have broadcast worldwide.  
  
I made my own decision as well. It was past time to get out of here before a police cordon was set up. I had a hotel to hack, rooms to secure, two injured and comatose people to see to, and more besides...  
  
I turned from where the League was departing.  
  
They had overlooked the situation at Cadmus, made mistakes, proved that they weren't the infallible icons of justice and truth they pretended. Worse, they might already be compromised. I had a lot of work to do indeed.

>  

 


	3. Birth Day III

**July 5, 2010  
14:12:00 GMT -5**  
  
  
The first indication either of my patients was waking up was a groan from Roy's bed.  
  
“Take it slow,” I ordered, not looking up from my work. “Your body is still recovering from extended cryogenic sleep.”  
  
“Fuuuuuck,” the auburn-haired teen drew out the sound, loud and long, “god, what the hell-holy shit! My fucking arm!”  
  
“Yeah, look,” I replied curtly, “I'll grow the damn thing back, just give me a minute here.”  
  
“Wh-where the hell am I? Who are you?!” Roy asked, getting up weakly from his position on the bed.  
  
I looked up briefly from my current 'patient' and glared at the redhead. “If you don't mind, I'm kind of _busy_ here,” I jerked my head down at the unconscious body in front of me, “if I fuck this up, this guy is going to die, go insane, or possibly _explode_. Stupid kryptonian biology. Anyway, I've been at this for nearly ten hours, and while I don't need to sleep, I'm going to be really pissed if you make me fuck up and waste all that effort, especially after the trouble I went through to save your ass!”  
  
There was an almost audible flinch as Roy settled back down, cowed, though still indignant about the conversation if his scowl was any indication.  
  
After a few minutes of silence, in which I turned back to the shallowly-breathing 'Project Match,' I heard Roy Harper speak back up, “who is he?”  
  
I sighed, but answered anyway, keeping the majority of my attention on using my medical nanites to rewrite the defective alien genes. Thankfully, Cadmus had kept a bit of Superman's DNA on file, something which my medical suite and the artificial intelligence in my suit could use to help me correct the numerous defects in his biology. Between the nanotechnology I was using to purge defective cells and correct the genetic structure, and Cadmus' documentation on kryptonian physiology, there was only one thing which truly mattered at this point.  
  
Time.  
  
Specifically, the amount of time which the unconscious clone spent absorbing solar radiation. Cadmus had kept him sedated under a series of red solar lamps, but even as I worked, his genetic structure was becoming harder to tamper with. It was a race against the solar saturation point of his species, when operating on him would become so power-intensive as to be impossible, or he'd become powerful enough to throw off the medical coma I was keeping him in.  
  
It was a race I was winning, but just barely.  
  
Fucking kryptonians.  
  
“This is Superman's clone,” I replied slowly, then pushed through the inhalation of surprise and alarm. “One of them, at least. An organization known as Cadmus has been experimenting with illegal genetic manipulation. They received funding and...research materials from a series of secretive backers who have a vested interest in keeping pace with the Justice League's capabilities.”  
  
I sighed and shook my head.  
  
“This is 'Project Match,'” I explained. “He was their first attempt at cloning Superman. However, certain sections of his DNA were improperly transcribed and...problems developed. Specifically, his higher-order reasoning faculties didn't take shape correctly. That part of his brain was...distorted, something which conventional surgery just couldn't fix. I'm using...'unconventional' skills to repair that region right now. Thankfully, most of his memory centers seem to be intact and the information and skills they imparted by psychic transmission have taken. I'd have had to leave him behind in Cadmus if the damage had been more severe than this.”  
  
The genomorphs had reported their teachings taking hold, at least, which had given me enough hope to even attempt this.  
  
If it had turned out that I'd overestimated my own abilities, I'd have had to try my best to kill the clone before he woke.  
  
I liked to think he would have preferred a quick and painless death over a life spent at the whims of tyrants and madmen.  
  
...if only to help me sleep at night.  
  
Then I let loose an explosive sigh, dropping back to lie on the floor and disconnecting from...Match? I'd have to see if he wanted to keep the name. “Done, thank god.”  
  
Roy was silent a moment as he sat, elbows resting on his knees, looking at his bandaged...stump. “Are they...this 'Cadmus,' are they the ones who...did this to me?”  
  
I frowned at the quivering rage bound in that tone. It was the kind of anger that burned hot and long, something that would consume you if you let it.  
  
Truth be told, I'd hoped for some kind of reaction from Roy. If he had woken up hale and hearty, he would have been much less inclined to believe the facts of his recent rescue. If he'd wanted to go to Green Arrow immediately and confirm everything...  
  
It was _one_ of the reasons I had waited to regrow his arm until after he woke up. I needed the former Speedy to trust _me_ , to accept my version of events and my authority, as much as possible, at least.  
  
I hoped I could keep him from going off half-cocked at this rate, though. Roy could be a valuable asset against our common foes, but only if he was willing to wait.  
  
“What's the last thing you remember?” I decided to ask instead.  
  
Roy frowned, and started to speak slowly, “Lex Luthor...we were investigating something. Weapons shipments, I think? Yeah, they were shipping weapons to Rhelasia.”  
  
He looked up, his eyes locking on mine. “You said I was recovering from...cryogenic sleep? How...how long did they have me for?”  
  
“Three years,” I replied bluntly, and Roy flinched as if struck.  
  
“Three years?” The words were gasped, a drowning child quickly losing his grip on his lifeline, “didn't Oll-I mean, didn't Green Arrow, didn't he look for me?”  
  
“I can only imagine he did,” I replied, leveraging myself up. Although I wasn't physically tired, mental fatigue had started to set in long ago. My cyberbrain's self-diagnostics were edging into the red from my extended and highly-focused use of my nanomachines, which meant this kind of operation was something I should avoid in the future.  
  
“But,” I continued, forcing myself back on topic, “Cadmus just managed to successfully create a human-kryptonian hybrid clone in the last few months. Pure humans, though, are much easier to clone, especially with a large enough genetic sample.”  
  
I let him draw the conclusions.  
  
Roy's lips pealed back in a snarl, the knuckles of his remaining hand clenching white. “Those bastards! Those fucking-damn it! A goddamn clone has been living _my_ life for three _years_ and my cock-sucking 'mentor' was taken in by some half-assed piece of shit-fuck!”  
  
I chuckled darkly as the teen devolved into a tirade of cursing and angry, strangled, noises.  
  
“Tell me about it,” I spat empathically. “They evidently caught _me_ about three months ago and were trying to study my...” My mouth twisted into a strange expression as I pondered how to explain my...'ability.'  
  
“Your...” Roy asked intently, his brows furrowing.  
  
I sighed and held up a wrist-mounted device. “Basically, I have an advanced piece of nano-technonological powered armor fused to my body. They were trying to figure out how to replicate my partially-biological, partially-technological physiology. Evidently, I was regarded as a 'unique specimen' and was being housed there until they could build some kind of special-purpose examination room. The term 'vivisection' featured prominently in my documentation.”  
  
Roy winced, turning his head. “Shit, that's just...fuck.”  
  
“Pretty much,” I sighed.  
  
We sat in quiet misery for a long moment.  
  
“So,” Roy began awkwardly, frowning as he raised his eyes to look at my slouched form. “Thanks, for saving me and shit. You probably already know, but...I'm...Roy Harper, Speedy.”  
  
I ran a hand through my hair as I pondered how to respond to the obvious invitation to introduce myself.  
  
“I...” I scowled, letting my head knock back against the wall as I looked myself over in the mirror opposite the two hotel beds my 'patients' were resting on.  
  
Without my suit on, I was a relatively lithe-looking teenager with flowing blonde hair, fair complexion, and startlingly blue eyes. Honestly, I looked like a fucking elf, complete with the gently-pointed ears. Of course, the cheap t-shirt and jeans I'd thrown on detracted somewhat form the otherwise fey image...as did the long, trailing tentacle I'd connected to the power outlet to supplement my suit's internal power reserves.  
  
I really didn't want to see their power bill this month.  
  
More to the point, though, my appearance wasn't something I recognized.  
  
Oh, parts of it were _familiar_ , but overall the image was...foreign, and the feeling of seeing 'my' reflection move in response to my own movements was more than a little disturbing.  
  
“I don't know what my name is,” I said bluntly, psychological tiredness and weary, powerless, anger descending on me. I continued blankly, my empty tone conveying my rage more than any acidic exclamation. “My...my brain is mostly electronics. To keep me contained, Cadmus put me in a cylinder that maintained a regular electromagnetic pulse every few seconds. My...systems, I guess you could say...they prioritized skills and information over actual contextual memories.”  
  
I saw the incomprehension on Roy's face.  
  
“In other words...I know about fifteen different martial arts, eleven different languages, and how to work all of my tech, but I can't tell you who taught me all of that, where I was born, or even my name,” I explained hollowly, watching as the alert popped up on my HUD again.  
  
[Memory Corruption Detected]  
  
I sighed heavily and made to stand. I didn't need to think about that right now. I needed to focus on things I could actually affect. Doing my best to avoid Roy's pitying gaze, I smiled grimly, “Now, let's see about that arm. Then we can see about waking up our napping friend here and getting back at the sick fucks who did this to us, how 'bout it?”  
  
Roy hesitated for a long moment, then thrust his stump towards me. Considering what he had just been through, it was an action which conveyed a remarkable amount of trust.


	4. Birth Day IV

**July 5, 2010  
16:30:00 GMT -5**

  
“...so they wanted to turn me into a weapon to use against Superman?” The clone asked, frowning intently as he watched the simulation data scroll across the hotel television.  
  
“You know, not that I'm not grateful for the new arm and everything,” Roy stated, bringing another scoop of curry to his mouth and swallowing, “because I _am_ , seriously, but that?”  
  
All three pairs of eyes in the room trailed to look at the long cable-like extension which ran from the back of my skull to the television's HDMI ports.  
  
“That,” Roy repeated, pointing with his spoon, “is still pretty damn freaky.”  
  
I blinked, pursed my lips, and looked to the clone with a questioning glance.  
  
“Don't look at me,” he shrugged, evidently off-kilter from the sudden turn of conversation, his eyes flicking about nervously.  
  
“My system schematics describes it as a 'worm platform,'” I stated aloud, cocking my head and deciding how much information to share. “Essentially, it's an adaptive, multipurpose data input-output.” As I described the device, it unhooked from the port and retracted. “It saves me a lot of trouble manipulating computers. Honestly, after using this, a normal interface just seems so...clunky.”  
  
We watched as the tip of my worm platform spiraled through various adapters, extending and contracting as necessary. Finally, the armored shell closed over the end and it contracted to just a bare nub at the base of my neck.  
  
“Still kind of freaky,” Roy stated, unapologetic, “but if that helped get me out of that Cadmus place, I can deal. Anyway, now that Super-junior is up to speed, we need to have a talk about how we're gonna' get back at those sons of bitches.”  
  
“Well,” I began slowly, threading my fingers and resting my chin on top, “I've been surfing the news sites and there's a political shit-storm brewing about the genomorphs, especially since someone leaked some information.”  
  
Roy raised an eyebrow as the clone narrowed his eyes.  
  
“It actually wasn't me,” I held up a hand, then grinned. “...or, at least, no one can _prove_ it was me. I set up a little present in Cadmus' systems before we left. Anyone looking will think the data leak was an accident caused by the power surges and explosions damaging the computer network.”  
  
“Slick,” Roy grinned, toasting me with a glass of water.  
  
“Do you really think that will accomplish anything?” Our other companion asked.  
  
“Public opinion can be a powerful force,” I replied, the auburn-haired teen nodding silently in agreement. “In a situation like this, the backlash against Cadmus and it's investors is going to be significant. I didn't leak anything about the Superman clones they created, but...”  
  
“About that,” Roy interjected, “aren't these guys going to notice that they're out a kryptonian and the original Roy Harper?”  
  
“It depends,” I frowned, shifting to lay one hand on the table as I began eating again. “Any laboratory like that was bound to have enough explosive material to suitably destroy a human body. I'm pretty sure that the remaining blood samples I threw around and the intensity of the fire will make a believable 'accident.' Regarding...”  
  
I waved a hand at our still unnamed comrade.  
  
“That's right, buddy, you still need a name,” Roy smirked. “That 'Project Match' shit has gotta' go.”  
  
“You think so?” He asked, picking up another piece of Chinese food and chewing slowly, obviously pondering both the taste and Roy's assertion.  
  
“I do,” Roy insisted, then turned to me, “and _you_ need one to.”  
  
I jerked in surprised, then realized he was right. I _did_ need a name. “...yeah, you're right.” I couldn't help but feel, on some level, that it was a betrayal of the person I used to be, to accept another name, but... “I guess...Drake? That sound good?”  
  
“Drake,” Roy hummed, tasting the name. “Yeah, okay, I think I can believe that. Nice to meet you, Drake.”  
  
“You too Roy,” I replied, my lips twitching into a smile.  
  
“How about you, big guy?” Roy nudged the kyrptonian clone.  
  
“Something with a 'M,'” he decided, then blushed slightly under our inquiring gazes, “so I don't...I don't forget. I don't want to forget where I came from, so I want a name with an 'M.'”  
  
“Hmm...” Roy frowned and leaned back, throwing his hands up to cradle the back of his head. “Mitch? Nah...Micheal? Marvin? Matthew? Ma...Ma...Mason? Max? Maximilian?”  
  
“Max,” the kryptonian interrupted suddenly, sitting up straighter. “I...like that. Not Maximilian, though...”  
  
“How about Maximus?” I asked in reply.  
  
“Maximus, Roman...meaning 'greatest.'” 'Max' stated, obviously reciting something from memory. Suddenly, he smil-no, it wasn't a smile, I realized. It was a _smirk_. It took me only a second to connect the name I had spoken...a name I almost wished I could take back now.  
  
It was just a fleeting feeling, but...had 'Maximus' been a mistake?  
  
I hoped not.  
  
“Well, now that we've got that settled,” Roy stated, serving himself another plate. “What was that about how you did something so they wouldn't notice Max missing?”  
  
“Well, we can be reasonably sure that it will be weeks until they notice anything. Even with Max's...facility being in the most secure area, with the press coverage and the government scrutiny, it will take a long time for them to be able to access that region. In addition, I basically collapsed that section of the labs in such a way that the area would be flooded with the contents of a vat of acid.” I explained, extending the cybernetic tendril from my neck and displaying a set of diagrams on the television.  
  
“Damn,” Roy whispered, “you really don't fuck around, do you?”  
  
“I can't afford to,” I replied gravely. “...more to the point, neither can any of us. We're taking on a group of supervillains that either include or associate with Lex Luthor. I already tripped up once and got myself captured. It was complete fucking luck that any of us got out of Cadmus.”  
  
“So...what does that mean? What do you think we should do?” Max asked intently.  
  
“Roy...they've had a clone living your life for the last three years,” I repeated, watching as the pent up frustration seized his frame, “but what you don't know is that they've left suggestions in his mind. Order and phrases that he can't _not_ respond to.”  
  
Roy's face paled, even as Max grimaced.  
  
“He's been with Green Arrow for three years,” Roy whispered in horror. “Ollie... _damnit_.”  
  
“Exactly,” I nodded gravely, “so, I have no idea how much we can trust any given member of the Justice League. Honestly, think we're more or less on our own here.”  
  
“What about our own minds?” Max spoke up, raising a hand to his temple. “If they put commands like that in Roy's clone...they had a lot of access to us. Did they do the same to us?”  
  
“Shit,” I cursed, the idea just occurring to me as well. “My brain...it's _mostly_ cybernetic, but, well...”  
  
“Mostly,” Roy echoed, nodding empathically. “So what do we do?”  
  
“I suppose the first thing we need to do is to get back at Cadmus and their backers...is to find a telepath or a magic-user to clean our minds,” I stated, frowning intently. “Someone powerful, trustworthy, but not connected to the Justice League...”  
  
“Those just grow on trees, right?” Roy asked sarcastically.  
  
“I...might, well...not _know_ someone,” I replied haltingly, getting their attention, “but I might know _of_ someone.”  
  
“I thought you said you couldn't remember anything,” Roy said, crossing his arms.  
  
I scowled, “I can't remember _context_. I can still remember...names, skills, languages, _factual information_. It's just when I try to remember _why_ I know these things...”  
  
[Memory Corruption Detected]  
  
I winced as the red letters displayed themselves on the television, drawing my comrades' attention. Cursing myself for forgetting, I disconnected myself and refused to meet their gazes.  
  
The tension was thick enough that I was amazed I could breathe, even if I didn't need to.  
  
“So who's this telepath you know?” Max asked, surprising both of us as he spoke up.  
  
I opened my mind to the internet, running a few quick web-searches as I looked for a face to match to the name swimming in my head. Then I stopped. Found her, she was in...  
  
“We need to get to New Orleans,” I stated, pulling up the information I'd just found. “Her name is Rachel Roth, she's working as a...huh.”


	5. Birth Day V

July 5, 2010  
16:34:00 GMT -5

“So...go back to the part where you think it's a good idea to let a half-demon whore mess around in our heads,” Roy ordered intently, staring at me as though he thought I'd gone insane.

Max's look wasn't too flattering for me either.

“She's not a whore,” I stated firmly. “She's an escort. There's a difference.”

“Oh yeah?” Roy remarked snidely, “does she have sex with people for money?”

“She gives people companionship for money.” I reiterated tiredly. “She goes to meals, movies, things like that with people who either can't get a date or have anxiety disorders or something. It's a perfectly legitimate profession.”

“So you're telling me you know for a fact she doesn't have sex with any of her clients?” Roy pressed, raising his eyebrows.

I opened my mouth, thought better of what I was about to say, then closed it.

“Okay,” I yielded, “but I find it interesting that you're so upset about the 'whore' part, specifically. If she was a guy, would you have as much of a problem with her?”

“I used to call Ollie a man-whore all the time,” Roy riposted bluntly, then waved his hand expressively. “It's not that I have anything against prostitutes, don't get me wrong. Ollie tended to see enough of them that I know most of the women, or men, are fairly cool. That doesn't mean I'm going to let you dress it up as something its not, though. It it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck, then it's a duck, not a peacock. Besides, I'm at least equally concerned about the whole 'demon' thing as well. Do you know of anyone else we could get to do this?”

I sighed and leaned back, rubbing at my head. “Rachel was my first choice, really. She's unconnected to pretty much any superhero or villain group, she has a strong moral code-”

Roy snorted.

“-and she has the very specific skill set we need, as well as being likely to actually keep quiet about helping us,” I finished.

“But you do have other choices?” Max pressed, looking interested. At my raised eyebrow, he shrugged. “I'm not as concerned about the 'who'-er, 'escort' part of it, but I'm not sure we should trust someone without any guarantee that they won't tell anyone we've escaped.”

“I was going to pay her,” I stated irritably.

“Whoa,” Roy raised a finger, then spread out his hand in a signal for me to stop. “Hold up there. You were going to pay her? With what money? I can't access my accounts, if the passwords even work anymore, Max doesn't have a nickel, and you...”

Roy frowned, looking around suspiciously. “How did you pay for all this, anyway? You got a fucking hotel room, Chinese food delivered, where are you getting the money for this?”

I sighed, rolling my eyes skyward. This conversation had to happen sometime, I suppose. “Okay, I'm going to go ahead and say I stole it.”

Both Roy and Max scowled at me, while I mimicked Roy's earlier motion and held up a hand even as Max opened his mouth.

“Alright, look, I know 'stealing is bad' and everything, but let me explain. I piggy-backed a signal across a few different countries before hacking into the social media accounts of the presidents and CEOs of the largest international banks and their children. I used those accounts to send emails and media links filled with viruses to their home computers.” I stated, mapping out my actions for the last few hours.

“Ooooo-kay,” Roy drawled, both his and Max's gazes intent. “I'm waiting to hear the, presumably, really good reason we shouldn't be pissed off.”

“Well, it turns out that a lot of higher-ups in banks cooperate with using their businesses for really shady shit. I mean, did you know that Queen Beena, of Bialya, has bank accounts in five of the seven largest international banks? The same monarch who the international political community has accused over a dozen times of human rights violations? I'm not talking about 'government accounts' either, these are personal, private accounts that she uses...judging from her transaction history, mainly to purchase luxury items from foreign nations.”

“Don't people know about this?” Max asked, clearly upset. “Why hasn't the Justice League-”

“-the Justice League doesn't interfere in that kind of shit,” Roy interjected, looking contemplative rather than angry. “I mean, Batman might, but he's mostly about Gotham. Green Arrow...well, he's not the best at detective work. Keeping track of Star City keeps his hands full, especially with Intergang and everything.”

“But the rest of the League...?” Max asked hopefully.

“Mostly punch villains,” I pointed out. “Superman will occasionally hit stockpiles of illegal munitions, but if I'm reading some news reports right...” I cocked my head as I tapped the relevant newspaper databases.

“Shit, yeah,” Roy sighed. “I remember something about that. The...uh, UN? I think, yeah, they were considering sanctions if Superman didn't start respecting the sovereignty of certain nations, or even removing the League's charter.”

I winced, then extended my cyber-head-tentacle to plug into the television. “Yeah, here it is.”

We sat in silence a moment as we contemplated the years-old news report.

“So...you're stealing money from third-world dictators?” Roy eventually asked.

“Pretty much,” I nodded.

“Gonna' get caught?” Roy pressed.

“Not likely. Besides, even if they do find out that someone stole all that money in about six months when the masking program deletes itself and the accounts actually report themselves as being empty...well, even if they do manage to chase the money through the hundreds of shell companies, regional banking groups, low-interest investments, and other financial tricks... In order to actually find the money, they'd have to look back in their own records and accounts. I hid it right under their own noses.”

“So not a chance in hell of getting caught, then, right.” Roy nodded.

There was a moment of silence as we all sat for a moment.

“It's only...um, people like that Queen Beena person, right?” Max asked.

“Her, the 'Glorious Leader' of North Rhelasia, a few African warlords, and South American dictators and drug kingpins,” I confirmed. “It's worth noting that, even if I sent all of this information to the authorities, it's likely they'd merely charge the banks with a fine of several million dollars, an amount which is essentially a pittance compared to what they make on a daily basis. It's what they've done in similar instances before.”

“Ah,” Max grunted, still scowling, but with a thoughtful edge now. “Alright then.”

“Yep,” Roy nodded. “So...about alternate choices besides the demon whore?”

I sighed. “If you really feel that strongly about Rachel, we'll table her for the moment. However, unless you think that the three of us can take on a secret international cabal of supervillains, I think she'd make a good addition to our group, if she turned out to be willing.”

Roy's face twisted, but he shrugged. “I'll think about it. I'd want to investigate and meet her before I make any decisions.”

“Same,” Max interjected.

“Alright then,” I nodded, sending a pulse of data through my worm platform into the tv. An image appeared. “Our feasible choices are...Kent Nelson. Upside is that he has decades of experience in the magical arts and was a member of the old Justice Society back in WW2 as Doctor Fate.”

“But he's probably friendly with at least a couple of the Justice League members,” Roy frowned, “how likely would he be to keep this confidential?”

I shrugged, “Fifty-fifty? It would depend on a lot of things that I can't account for. I know he was good friends with Wonder Woman and the original Flash and Green Lantern, though of all the League members Princess Diana is one of the least likely to be compromised.”

“Why's that?” Max asked curiously.

“Well, besides the magical protections offered by the Olympic gods and goddesses, I'm not sure traditional mind control, especially long-term compulsions would work on her all that well, given that she's a clay golem brought to life by said deities.” I replied bluntly.

Roy opened his mouth, apparently thought better of it, then shut it.

“Not even going to ask how you know that,” the auburn-haired teen eventually settled on, shaking his head. “But, seriously, I hope we eventually find out who you were, man, because you have got to have one huge fucking story to tell.”

I debated answering, but eventually just flipped to the next image...or pair of images, as it were. “Manchester and Vera Black. Brother and sister. Extremely powerful telepaths, Manchester especially. They were for the British government as an unofficial, deniable, superhero program called the 'Elites.'”

“Huge fucking story,” Roy muttered again, “how likely are they to help us?”

“Very good chance,” I replied, “but they have rather strict institutional loyalty. It's likely that, at best, they'd report us to the British government. At worst, they might receive orders to brainwash us or turn us over to the Justice League if their government thought we would cause trouble, or if they could use us to score points.”

“...so they're out,” Roy groaned. “Anyone else?”

“One more,” I replied, popping up the final picture. “Zatanna Zatara, only daughter of Giovanni Zatara, standing member of the Justice League. She has an address listed in her school's documentation, so it would be fairly easy to make covert contact with her and, as we're all at or near her own age, she would probably be very sympathetic to our situation. The only problem is that, although she might be motivated to both help us and keep our secret, she's probably not terribly experienced. Ultimately, I'm not sure if she would be able to help us, but she is one of the more trustworthy of our possibilities, at least on par with Kent Nelson.”

“That's it?” Max asked curiously, a notable lack of judgment in his tone.

“Pretty much,” I answered. “There are a few other options, but we're getting into the less-offensive and violent villains.”

“Pass,” Roy vetoed in monotone.

“Thought so,” I nodded, then drummed my fingers on the table, still strewn with empty cartons of Chinese food. “Which one are you guys thinking about?”

Max and Roy traded a look.


	6. Road Trip I

**July 10, 2010  
13:52:00**  
  
_[The thunder rolls...and the lightning strikes.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=rOs9aOn74UI)_  
  
“There is something terribly, terribly _wrong_ with you,” the teen in the passenger side replied, a vacant horror having long-ago filled his eyes.  
  
“I would have thought that was obvious from a while back,” I replied, artfully flipping my hair.  
  
'Ray Herbert' made a noise between a shiver and a groan, “don't _do_ that, damnit! You're way too fucking good at it.”  
  
“Girls do it all the time,” I shot back, not taking my eyes off the road.  
  
“-and you're a guy!” Ray answered indignantly, his eyes trailing back to look at himself in the fold-down mirror. More specifically, to poke at his hair again.  
  
His dirty-blonde hair.  
  
“Well, technically,” I pointed out, “we just _think_ I'm a guy. Since I can change my appearance, and sex, at will, it's not too much of a stretch to say that I might have been a girl.”  
  
At this point, I was really just giving my new friend shit. I was _pretty certain_ that I'd been a guy, but having the bulk of your contextual memory erased evidently did funny things to your gender identity. Besides, girls got to carry around purses, which gave me somewhere to put, like, ten more small weapons before I had to resort to 'suiting up.'  
  
“I am traveling across country,” Ray stated in a hollow voice, a slight twitch forming around one eye, “with a gender-confused cybernetic elf who actually _likes_ country music to find a ninety-year-old wizard.”  
  
The car was silent a moment as the stereo kicked over to a [new track](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=LJ2RmFcxoDs).  
  
“This is my life now,” he finished, with the tone of one who had discovered an especially unwelcome revelation.  
  
“Oh come on, bro,” I stated with a grin, spinning the wheel as we pulled into a deserted back-country rest stop. “We're supposed to be undercover. That means people need to buy the damn story we feed them.”  
  
“Fuck it, I know,” my 'brother' replied irritably. “I'm Raymond Thomas Herbert and you're Drusilla Rachael 'Drake' Herbert. I still don't see why you got to keep your name and I had to change mine.”  
  
“Because each of us has a one-quirk limit,” I stated. “Some little anecdote that fleshes out our backstories and makes them seem too weird to be faked. Stranger than fiction. You wanted to be eighteen, even though you look _sixteen_ at the outside, so you're my twin brother who just woken up from a three-year coma. I even made it so you're the older brother. My one quirk is the funny nickname. 'Drusilla Rachael' turns into Drake due to an amusing accident when we were kids. At any rate, my name is a fabrication. Your _real_ name isn't. At least you got to stay male.”  
  
“Thank god for small favors,” he replied shortly, then looked into the back seat, “Hey Max! Up and at 'em. We're here!”  
  
“I'm awake.” To his credit, his voice was only _slightly_ groggy as I dropped the vehicle into park and opened the door.  
  
“I still don't see why we couldn't just fly down to Dallas,” Ray stated, stretching as he reached into the bed of the truck and grabbed a archery case.  
  
“I gave you something like ten good reasons,” I replied, even as I slid my legs into a wide stance and _twisted_ , earning several delightful pops and cracks from my joints as I did so.  
  
“Yeah, yeah,” Ray waved me off as he strung his bow with the expertise of a true archer. “Resources, we didn't have proper ID yet, side trips to pick up weapons, baggage limit...I still think it's just because you don't like flying.”  
  
“I _love_ flying,” I corrected, triggering the silver bracer on my right forearm with a mental command as a wave of black ooze, nanites, flowed over my body.  
  
“Jesus-fuck!” Ray spat, flinching and looking irritated at himself for doing so. “Warn a guy, will you!?”  
  
“Like I was saying,” I reiterated, “I love flying.” I stretched my wings, a huge span of ten feet at their fullest. I flexed my primary arms, then secondary, and finally tertiary, feeling the artificial sinew and muscle light up sectors of my brain which didn't correspond to anything in my 'normal,' human form. “Besides, Max doesn't have a problem with my armor, do you?”  
  
Max turned from where he was hovering in the air slightly, his typically bland expression replaced by a genial, if small, smile. He shrugged. “Not really. It just covers him-er, her...Drake. It's not a big deal.”  
  
“Well some of us don't have x-ray vision,” Ray muttered, though by this point he knew we could both hear him. “Damn suit could give Satan nightmares.”  
  
I frowned slightly as I pondered what he saw, bringing up a diagram absently.  
  
My entire form was cloaked in an obviously artificial dark mesh so dark that it appeared to drink in light rather than merely being a shade of black. My wings extended from my shoulders, huge membranes drawn tight between metal spokes that, though they looked delicate, were strong enough to carry my rather large body skyward in just a few wing-beats.  
  
My 'primary' arms, those limbs which reflected my human arms, trailed downward from my shoulders, slightly longer than human proportions would allow for. Beneath them, my secondary set of arms pivoted from a 'joint' that was set slightly inwards on my back, approximately where my shoulder blades would be if they truly connected to bone and muscle, rather than being an extension of the suit. My final set of arms was set even further inwards, almost to the point of being fully on my back, about stomach-level.  
  
The configuration helped keep the six limbs from interfering with each other and allowed them nearly-full range of movement, whereas stacking them on top of each other would make for a certain amount of clumsiness. Plus, the lowest set of arms made attaching a detaching weapons from the spinal-mounts along my back significantly easier than it would be otherwise.  
  
Lastly, though, was the long, sinuous tail which housed and protected the worm platform as it extended from the base of my skull and allowed me to more safely use it in a combat situation, armoring the relatively delicate circuitry and thin pseudo-metal extension.  
  
All in all, I looked pretty terrifying.  
  
Probably not quite on the Batman's level, yet, but I had high hopes once I learned, or rather re-learned, how to properly apply my skills.  
  
“Another advantage of actually driving,” I reminded my 'brother,' my voice distorted by the suits. “We're all out of practice. Stopping at remote campsites like these lets us get a little light sparring in.”  
  
“Can't say I disagree with that,” Ray grinned, plucking the string of his bow lightly as he tested the tension. “Still, you're sure we'll make Dallas in time? I really don't want to miss this guy.”  
  
“His hotel reservation is for the twentieth,” I replied, my hacking having yielded a few scant chances to contact our potential ally. “We should get there on the eighteenth if we keep up our schedule.”  
  
“Any idea what he's doing in the city?” Max asked curiously, still peacefully watching the rampant greenery around us.  
  
Must be nice to be a kryptonian and perfectly sure of the inability of anything short of green space rocks to hurt you.  
  
“...not completely,” I replied, despite the nagging sensation that I _should_ know.  
  
I shook my head. It would come to me, or it wouldn't. Fighting the memory would only make it slip away.  
  
Grinning, I reached into the truck's bed and pulled out my own case of weapons.  
  
Time to have a little fun.


	7. Road Trip II

**July 11, 2010  
01:48:30 GMT -5**  
  
“I will never bitch about Ollie's training sessions again,” Ray vowed, dropping down next to the fire and rubbing at sore muscles.  
  
“And I will never get into a serious fistfight with a kryptonian,” I replied, glad of my own healing factor. I'd taken the edge off Ray's light injuries, but he had wanted some of the soreness to remain, to make him less likely to forget the few mistakes he'd made.  
  
Max winced, rubbing the back of his head, “sorry.”  
  
“Not a big deal,” I waved him off. “I need the experience. _Knowing_ what I can do is all well and good, but experiencing it firsthand is invaluable. Besides, with you as a sparring dummy-”  
  
I grinned at his frown and held up my palms.  
  
“-joking, of course, but you're someone I don't have to hold back against. Against 'brother dear'-”  
  
“Go die in a fire,” Ray groaned, reaching over to grab a stick and sliding a marshmallow onto it.  
  
“-I could seriously injure him if I didn't hold myself to a human standard,” I replied, then moderated my statement to soothe the archer's no-doubt bruised ego. “Of course, I need to practice against baseline humans too, since I might need to pass for one in the future.”  
  
“But I'll _always_ have to be holding back,” Max said, looking neutrally at his clenched fist, then starting as Ray shoved a marshmallow on a stick at him.  
  
He snorted in amusement, but took the proffered treat.  
  
“There's not a lot in your weight class, at least physically,” I stated. “Mostly, you need to be able to keep it to a human level so you don't hurt someone unintentionally...or keep it to a _merely_ superhuman level so you don't give the game away. There are plenty of super-strong people out there. There are _far_ fewer Super _man_ -strong people.”  
  
He frowned slightly, but nodded, even as I raised my own fluffy piece of inflated sugar to melt over the fire.  
  
“If it helps,” I felt compelled to add, “we might be able to set up a few rounds against Big Blue himself...once this is all over.”  
  
So said, I let my eyes drop down into our campfire, watching as the heat slowly built on my marshmallow, the entrancing sight under a thermal scope occupying my surface thoughts. While my inner turmoil spun over what was left unsaid on my part.  
  
I _hadn't_ voice my thoughts on who _else_ he might be able to find equal footing with. After all, I couldn't find anything on the internet or even on private databases about 'Supergirl' or her civilian identity...other than some bad (and some _good_ ) cosplay. The web was equally silent on 'Powergirl,' which was disturbing on many levels. I _knew_ these people existed, along with a whole host of other heroes, and some villains, who I couldn't find any information on.  
  
Were my memories, what remained at least, _wrong_?  
  
Or...there was also the fact that I remembered _multiple versions_ of many heroes, none of which had any documentation to suggest they were real either. For Robin, the Boy Wonder, I remembered at least _five_ different versions, some of whom _inherited_ the position.  
  
Was I a time traveler?  
  
Then again, I remembered different versions of more iconic heroes as well. Impossible versions. A Superman born in the Soviet Union, a normal man named Clark Kent who one day finds himself able to fly and becomes the hero he'd read about in comics, and an evil counterpart to the red-and-blue hero 'Ultraman.'  
  
Was I insane, then?  
  
Of course, there was an alternate explanation, though possibly the most fantastical of all things I'd considered. In a world of aliens, gods, and stranger...all of it felt somehow _foreign_ to me, exhilarating and terrifying at the same time. Maybe...  
  
...I 'wasn't from around here'?  
  
I shook myself from my inner pondering and looked up, then replayed the last few seconds of the conversation mentally. “Sorry, I was...thinking about something.”  
  
“Yeah, I could see,” Ray nodded, though didn't pry. “Your 'mallow is on fire.”  
  
“Shit,” I cursed, blowing hard on the flaming, melting, sugar.  
  
Ray snickered at my distress, then repeated his earlier question, though my cybernetic brain had recorded it perfectly. “You said, 'after this is over.' I wanted to know, 'what's our endgame?' How does this all play out?”  
  
“You mean about the Light,” I responded, clarifying just to be sure, picking up a pair of graham crackers and two pieces of chocolate.  
  
“We've watched that conversation you recorded between them and Desmond enough to know they mean serious business, especially if they were willing to kill off Robin, Kid Flash, and Aqualad,” Ray confirmed, building his own smore.  
  
“We stop them,” Max replied grimly, looking over his confection doubtfully before taking a small bite.  
  
The kryptonian clone blinked, the took several more gooey bites in quick succession, devouring the snack.  
  
Ray and I traded amused glances as we carefully consumed our own treats.  
  
“Yeah, we stop them,” Ray nodded, “but, Drake...hear me out. Pieces of shit like these guys? If they're friends of Luthor's? They don't stop. Even if we sent Luthor to prison, he'd have the best lawyers in the world get him out in _days_ , if not hours. They need to pay for what they did to us, but more than that...I don't want them free to do it to anyone else again either.”  
  
I licked my fingers slowly. “You're suggesting we kill them.”  
  
My tone was bland, emotionless.  
  
The crackle of the fire was loud as we all sat silently, digesting the thought.  
  
“I'd be lying if I said it hadn't crossed my mind.” I stated quietly.  
  
Max scowled.  
  
“If you aren't comfortable...” I began, but stopped when he shook his head, reaching for the bag of white, fluffy, sugary cylinders.  
  
“It's...not that,” Max replied slowly. “I just...a lot of what the genomorphs put in my head...was about killing people, or killing the Justice League. Countering their moves, being able to take them apart, especially Superman. It just...feels like I'm letting them win, if I become what they wanted me to be.”  
  
Ray grimaced, stabbing his stick through another marshmallow.  
  
“There are times I wonder the same thing,” I replied thoughtfully, leaning back to lay on the grass. I snorted as the two looked up in surprise at me. “Think about it. I'm essentially the perfect assassin. I don't need to sleep, or eat, or _breathe_. My suit lets me turn invisible and dampen sound around me. I can hack just about anything...”  
  
“You think someone created you, too,” Ray realized.  
  
“Or at least...made me what I am,” I nodded, then sighed.  
  
A glimmer of respect, of _fraternity_ , if I didn't miss my guess, lit up Max's eyes in the firelight.  
  
“Shit,” Ray muttered.  
  
“Shit,” I concurred, then snorted again. “...but, if I've gotta' be something like this? I might as well put it to good use, you know?”  
  
I looked up, and into Max's eyes.  
  
“It's okay not to want to kill someone. Hell, that's probably the best proof you'll ever have that you're more than they ever wanted you to be.” I busied myself with starting another marshmallow roasting for a moment. “You don't have to help us, Max. I'm not going to ask you to. This kind of thing...isn't something you ask a friend. You can be a lookout, or help us carry stuff, or...fuck, if you really want it, I'll set you up with a little farm somewhere in Kansas, out in the middle of nowhere, and make sure no one ever bothers you.”  
  
His eyes dropped, contemplatively, to stare into the fire.  
  
“No,” he replied, shaking his head, his expression firming. “They don't get to...just get away with it. If that means we kill them, then we do. That's it.”  
  
“If you're sure,” I replied, and he nodded, “then that's it.”  
  
“Heartwarming as this is,” Ray interjected, “one of you two needs to go get another bag of marshmallows from the truck. We're out.”


	8. Road Trip III

**July 13, 2010  
14:20:50**  
  
“Let's stop in for a drink, you said!” Ray shouted over the din, throwing a right hook at the large, leather-clad man in front of him.  
  
“It was a Denny's!” I replied, equally loudly, as I grabbed a fist coming at my by the wrist and flipped its owner. “Shit like this never happens at a Denny's!”  
  
“This is the last time _you_ get to choose the rest stop!” Ray called back, stepping into another man's guard and snapping the man's head back with a quick one-two combo.  
  
“Argh!” Max yelled, more in frustration and irritation than anything else. Three burly bikers had ganged up on the kryptonian clone and were attempting to inflict some manner of damage.  
  
Failing horribly, but they weren't letting that stop them.  
  
Max, though, was admirably restraining himself.  
  
He had only thrown _one_ of them through a window so far.  
  
“It's not like I picked a fucking truckstop bar!” I retorted, flipping a chair up and grabbing it before bringing it down on one goon's back. “How was I supposed to know a neo-nazi biker gang was going to decide to pick a fight with the local Hell's Angel's chapter!”  
  
“Excuses, excuses!” Ray called back, mockingly, the grin on his face belying the supposed irritation he felt at this turn of events.  
  
I barked a quick laugh as I ducked under a baseball bat, then grabbed the instrument and jabbed it into the offender's stomach.  
  
“How long until the cops get here!?” Ray called again, even as he strained his voice to be heard over the smacking of flesh on flesh, wood on flesh, and the shatter of glasses.  
  
...and that was Max defenestrating another individual.  
  
“Ten minutes!” I shot back. “We're in bumfuck Tennessee! At a pitstop in the middle of fucking nowhere!”  
  
“Gee!” Ray affected a shocked tone as he danced around. “Who'd a' thunk it! Biker gangs like to pick out of the way places to brawl! No shit!”  
  
“Oh shit!” I corrected, the surprise in my voice audible as I called out to my friends. “Guns! Max, take 'em down!”  
  
“Right!” I saw Max nod once out of the corner of my eye and grab one of the burly men armed with a chain who had been attempting to wail on the clone.  
  
Then Max threw him.  
  
A pair of gunshots went off as people screamed and the gawkers in the parking lot finally turned to run.  
  
“Okay you pieces of shit,” I hear Ray state coolly, a grim expression taking shape on his face, “Time to get serious.”  
  
**July 13, 2010  
15:50:15 GMT -6**  
  
“...so, yeah,” I finished, picking at my french fries, “As soon as shit started to go down, I sent a call out for the cops, then basically bricked the camera function on anyone's phones. No pictures or video.”  
  
“Well at least there's that,” Ray muttered, chewing somewhat disgustedly on the fast food he'd ordered. “You're reading the police scanners, right? What's the damage?”  
  
“Two skinheads dead,” I replied, “gunshot wounds. One of the Angels looks like he's not going to make it either. Head trauma.”  
  
“Fucking wastes of space,” Ray grunted.  
  
“Why did they even start that fight?” Max asked, looking queerly at his somewhat...floopy burger, as if pondering the sort-of-meat patty within.  
  
...I probably didn't want to know what that kind of thing looked like under super-vision, actually.  
  
“I think it was a turf war,” I stated, scrolling through the police bands. “Or...something like that. The neo-nazis are dealing meth in the area. The police aren't really sure whether or not the Hell's Angels are trying to take over or just trying to push the skinheads out.”  
  
Max snorted, a dissatisfied sound. “Sounds stupid.”  
  
I shrugged, then leaned back in the hard plastic seat, as much as I could. “This food sucks.”  
  
Ray made an aggravated noise.  
  
“There's a-” I began.  
  
“If you say Denny's,” Ray threatened. Max looked equally displeased.  
  
“IHOP,” I replied, jerking my thumb.  
  
Ray and Max exchanged a look, then dropped their eyes back to their 'food.'  
  
Ray sighed and picked up his plastic tray. “Fine, but god help me! If something _else_ happens today...”  
  
I rolled my eyes. Really, what were the odds?


	9. Road Trip IV

  
**July 14, 2010  
10:20:45 GMT -6**   


“I'm not sure I understand human culture,” Max admitted as we slowly walked around the '[museum](http://www.roadsideamerica.com/story/24194).'  
  
“...if this is human culture, I don't either,” Ray replied in an undertone, scowling distrustfully at the wax statues. “Why are we here, anyway?”  
  
“Max wanted to stop,” I chastised the dyed-blonde archer quietly, though that almost-certainly didn't stop the aforementioned kryptonian clone from hearing.  
  
“Sorry,” Max stated, looking slightly bummed.  
  
“Absolutely nothing to be sorry about,” I replied with a wave, clapping him on the shoulder. “I'm sorry I don't know more about kyrptonian culture, or I'd tell you.”  
  
“The fact that you know _anything_ ,” Ray huffed, exasperated by the breadth of my knowledge.  
  
“It's okay,” Max dismissed, his hands going back to rest in his pockets, an obviously practiced motion that he'd seen the other day. “I mean...this is how _he_ must have felt growing up to, isn't it?”  
  
“It's probably not the best idea to use Big Blue as your personal measuring stick,” I replied quietly, squeezing his shoulder once before letting my hand drop.  
  
“Then what am I supposed to use?” Max asked, frustration evident in his tone, “humans have each other, so do martians and whatever else is out there. Aren't I supposed to use my own kind as...”  
  
“You're going about it the wrong way,” Ray spoke up, somewhat unexpectedly as he stared at wax-Bill Clinton. “Don't think about it in terms of measuring up.”  
  
Max turned to look at him, his attention obviously directed at the archer's words.  
  
Ray sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “Knowing where you stand is all well and good, but constantly looking up at someone better than you and thinking how you don't measure up? That's never good. Take it from me. When I first joined up with Ollie...I thought he walked on water. The shit he can do with a bow and arrow...”  
  
“Anyway, though,” Ray shook his head, “you shouldn't think about life in terms of whether or not your achievements are as good as someone else's. Your achievements are yours and theirs are theirs. Don't think that you have to do something or be someone just because the world wants you to.”  
  
I grinned at the archer and he looked away, mock-irritably.  
  
Max, on the other hand, looked thoughtful, “thanks,”  
  
“Don't get me wrong,” Ray stated, “I still think all of this sight-seeing is a waste of time. I mean, this is time we could be using to prepare.”  
  
“Which we are,” I rebuffed. “We can't exactly use our 'skills' where people can see, can we? We're supposed to be covert, which means no actionable hero-ing to draw the attention of our targets. So we camp out and practice, we do training missions, we spar.”  
  
“Which doesn't explain why we're not doing that now,” Ray riposted.  
  
“We need a little relaxation just as much as we need more training,” I stated. “Plus, we're traveling across country. Unless you want us to stop every few hours at remote camping grounds, practicing all the time is a little unfeasible.”  
  
“Plus,” I reminded him, “Max needs experience in human society. Interaction. Normalcy. Really, we all do. So unless you want to start going to school again, taking a break here and there is good. None of us want to turn into a workaholic.”  
  
Ray grunted, which I'd come to understand was his way of conceding the point, but tabling the argument for later.  
  
“There's only one thing we can do to prepare more than we are now,” I stated lowly anyway.  
  
“What's that?” Max asked curiously from where he was looking at an interesting arrangement of wax figures.  
  
...well, interesting and creepy.  
  
I took a deep breath, “if you're serious about putting an end to them once and for all, we need to be sure that, when the time comes, we can do that.”  
  
Ray flinched, almost as if I'd struck him.  
  
Max grimaced.  
  
None of us spoke for several long moments.  
  
“You're talking about killing people,” Max eventually stated grimly, almost angrily, though I got the sense that his anger was more directed at the situation than myself.  
  
“Drug lords, gangster kingpins, slave traders, serial killers who got off on a technicality,” I answered quietly. “People the world won't miss.”  
  
“We're really having this conversation?” Ray asked, his question directed at nothing and no one. “Fuck.”  
  
“You want to go in, take them down? Arrest them, dismantle their organization?” I asked, my voice calm and moderate. “That's one thing. Killing people is something else and that's what you're proposing we do. I'm not going to argue that these people don't deserve what's coming to them, but in a situation like this? We fuck up, we die.”  
  
I let that sink in before speaking again.  
  
“That means if we get a shot, we take it. No hesitation, no discussion, nothing but a dead body.” I stated in an undertone, my eyes flicking about to make sure no one was in hearing range for the fifth time this conversation.  
  
Just to be sure, though, the museum would discover that the breaker for their security system had blown just as we entered the building. I might not be able to hack the ancient, analogue, devices, but I could certainly disable them and tell when they came back on.  
  
“Ollie would have an aneurysm if he even heard me talking about this,” Ray announced in an undertone, his right fist rhythmically clenching hard enough to turn the knuckles white.  
  
It was becoming obvious that he'd developed something of a nervous tick.  
  
I turned to Max, “any thoughts? You're part of this team too.”  
  
Max frowned, but seemed to be considering his words carefully. “We're...going after the Light because of what they did, right? To us. What they're probably going to do to other people to, if they haven't done already.”  
  
“Us, the genomorphs, Superboy,” I listed off. “Ray's clone, Ray's _other_ clone-  
  
"Don't remind me," Ray groused, his anger obviously flaring again. "Fucking sick bastards."  
  
"-Green Arrow. One of the files in their computer described a chemical compound they were calling 'Blockbuster,' remember? It looks like they're planning to mass-produce that as a terror-drug. I showed you what happened to the test subjects.”  
  
Max grimaced and turned away.  
  
Ray sighed. “We take this slow. Anyone we pick, we have to all agree on it. Anyone says 'no,' we either don't do it, or we turn them over to the law.”  
  
“Of course,” I nod. I didn't completely trust myself making decisions like these. “I wouldn't want any of us to do something we'd regret.”  
  
“We're going to have to work quick, after we meet up with this Nelson guy,” Ray continued. “If they really want my clone to join the League before they get ready to act, they're going to have to wait until he's at least eighteen. That only gives us a couple of months.”  
  
“I have a couple of thoughts on that,” I replied vaguely. “There might be a way or two to push back our deadline.”  
  
“Good,” Ray nodded. “Now let's get out of here. Fucking wax figures are creeping me out more that your fucking suit.”  
  
“We could have stopped in Memphis,” I replied, even as we began to walk away towards the exit. “They had a [jazz museum](http://www.memphisrocknsoul.org/).”  
  
“Memphis is in Tennessee,” Ray stated firmly, as if that explained everything. “Tennessee is cursed.”  
  
“Just because we had an...incident or two,” I replied.  
  
“Three,” Ray stated firmly. “Once is an accident, twice is coincidence, three times is enemy action.”  
  
“You can't honestly be counting the guy who pulled a gun on that gas station attendant,” I argued.  
  
Max snorted, looking vastly, but quietly, amused by something.


	10. Road Trip V

**July 16, 2010  
02:14:52 GMT -6**  
  
“Magic Missile!” I cried, launching the arrow from my bow.  
  
“Fireball!” Ray echoed, loosing another shard of plastic.  
  
“Damn it!” Max yelled out seconds after the tips struck home.  
  
“Time,” I shouted, calling the exercise momentarily and dropping my stealth. Ray, with a shit-eating grin on his face, likewise dropped out of the canopy.  
  
“This should not be as fun as it is,” Ray shook his head.  
  
“Easy for you to say,” Max grunted. “You're not the one getting shot at.”  
  
“Hey,” I interrupted what was no doubt going to become an epic pout-er, _grouch_ fest. “You get to kick our asses at hand-to-hand, even if I have the better technique. We need the experience fighting people bigger and stronger than we are. You need this.”  
  
“I need to be pelted by arrows,” Max groused sarcastically, raising any eyebrow as he tried to pick the drying paint from his clothing.  
  
“You need to practice not getting hit by 'magic spells.'” I replied dryly, pulling out a set of paint-tipped arrows. “The whole point of this is to simulate us throwing 'magic spells' at you. We're the wizards or mages or whatever, and you're the kryptonian. We're your only natural predators in this scenario.”  
  
“Are you _sure_ kryptonians are vulnerable to magic?” Max pressed with a frown. “That just seems so...arbitrary.”  
  
“Sorry, thems the breaks,” I shrugged. “But, hey, think of it this way: non-magically trained humans are just as weak against spells as kryptonians. Next time we play this game, we'll give you a bucket of sponges soaked with colored water and you can chuck those at us.”  
  
Max snorted, but some of his irritation subsided.  
  
I coughed slightly. “Remember the rules?”  
  
“Yeah, yeah...I can't attack, but you'll be flinging 'spells' at me. You have to call the names out for whatever you're 'casting' or it doesn't count. I can jump, but I can't fly. I can't break the sound barrier either, so I need to learn to control my speed.” Max rolled his eyes, “red for fire damage, yellow for lightning, white for wind, brown for earth, and...blue for water?”  
  
Ray nodded, still uncharacteristically...or possibly _spitefully_ cheerful. “Then there's orange for enchantments like sleep or hold person and green for force spells, like magic missile and-”  
  
“Wait,” I held up a hand, turning slowly to the blonde, who blinked at my interruption. “I never said 'hold person.'”  
  
Ray twitched, a subtle motion which would have been lost in the near-absolute darkness had he not been in the company of two people with super-human senses.  
  
“Huh?” Max asked, cocking his head.  
  
I felt a slow grin crawl over my face.  
  
My thermal sensors detected a slight, but significant rise in heat across Ray's checks. My grin widened, “nothing. Absolutely nothing.”  
  
“What?” Max asked, his eyes flicking suspiciously between us.  
  
“Don't worry about it Max, Ray apparently just has some interesting hobbies I wouldn't have expected of him,” I smiled.  
  
“Oh,” Max grunted, still seemingly slightly confused, but realizing on some level that the joke, whatever it was, wasn't on him.  
  
“Whatever,” Ray ground out, turning away, “can we just get on with this?”  
  
“Sure,” I crooned, “it'll be a larp-oh, I meant _walk_ , in the park.”  
  
“You know, just because you _think_ you know how to use that bow,” Ray nodded towards my nano-fabricated weapon, “doesn't mean you're hot shit.”  
  
“Oh, really?” I asked, smirking. I already _knew_ I probably wouldn't ever be as good an archer as Roy Harper, now Ray Herbert, was. I was technically proficient in the weapon, whereas Ray possessed an intuitive grasp of the bow. It was the difference between practical and academic knowledge.  
  
Still, I couldn't help but poke fun at the other teen. More than being fun in and of itself, it kept Ray from stalking off on his own and brooding, which I'd noticed he tended to do when he wasn't engaged with something or someone.  
  
As long as Ray was playfully irritated with me, he wasn't feeling sorry for himself.  
  
If I had to suffer a few blows to my own pride for that, I'd take the trade easily.  
  
“How about a little bet?” Ray offered speculatively.  
  
“I'm listening,” I replied.  
  
“Whoever gets the fewest hits on Max-” Ray began.  
  
“-hey!”  
  
“-has to do two rounds of hand-to-hand with Max,” Ray finished.  
  
Max's outrage faded to thoughtful contemplation. As much as he might get slightly frustrated 'taking it easy' on us mere mortals, Max probably enjoyed combat practice the most out of all the drills we ran. There was, after all, no doubt about who would win those matches.  
  
“What if I win?” Max asked instead, “what's in it for me?”  
  
Ray and I blinked.  
  
“I mean, the arrows don't exactly _hurt_ , but this isn't much fun for me, just getting shot at all the time without being able to fight back,” Max stated, quite reasonably. “So if you guys are going to make a contest out of trying to turn me into a pincushion, I want to know what I get out of it.”  
  
“How about,” I started, getting over the shock of Max speaking up. He had been doing that more and more lately, hadn't he? “How about, if neither of us gets _any_ hits on you...we _both_ have to do two rounds of hand-to-hand?”  
  
Ray winced, even as Max grinned.  
  
**July 17, 2010  
16:10:46 GMT -6**  
  
“Proper motivation is the key,” I stated, easing myself into the driver's seat. I suppose I _could_ have driven just fine without sleep, but just because I didn't need it anymore didn't mean I didn't _like_ to sleep.  
  
Besides, I'd ceded to Ray's wishes regarding the lingering muscle pain. I deserved a little unconsciousness.  
  
“Don't remind me,” Ray groaned, evidently regretting his own choices.  
  
Max just smiled, a deeply self-satisfied expression.  
  
I sighed. “Okay, so we're going to be there tomorrow. That means no practice tonight guys. You two call out if you need a pitstop, otherwise I'm driving us straight over to Dallas. Should take about ten hours if we make decent time. That means we'll have a day or two to scope out the place.”  
  
“This guy better be able to help us,” Ray stated, massaging a sore shoulder.  
  
I didn't say anything in response, instead pulling out a key and starting up the truck.


	11. Off The Rails I

**July 20, 2010  
15:50:02 GMT -6**  
  
I wasn't wearing my usual face.  
  
For the sake of disguise, I'd chosen something far outside of my usual 'masks,' shifting my height by the few centimeters I was able to as well as putting on something that drew heavily from Japanese ancestry. I'd also picked out some nondescript clothing, all of which was new and hopefully wouldn't hold any 'magical' traces to track or identify me with. Combined with the public area I'd chosen to await the contact, anyone should at least think twice before starting a fight.  
  
Granted, I had no _reason_ to expect this to devolve into a fight, but an ounce of prevention and all that...or a pound of paranoia. That might be more accurate.  
  
_He call yet_?  
  
I sighed and took a sip of my soda, relaxing...or at least looking the part even as my cohort sub-vocalized into the throat-mic he was wearing.  
  
_No, he hasn't. Same as thirty seconds ago when you last asked. Give it time, Ray._  
  
As for me, I didn't need a throat mic. It was easy enough to key my inlaid cybernetics to a randomized wireless frequency keyed to jump to a new band every few seconds. Combined with the encryption protocols we were using, I hoped it was enough to be secure, but not enough to attract any random supervillain's attention. Then again, if we were already under surveillance at this point, we were fairly screwed.  
  
Hopefully, we could work out a way to get Ray and Max a similar advantage. External microphones were just so...clunky, and insecure.  
  
_Just keep watch. You're out of sight, in a good position to snipe, and I trust you and Max to have my back if it comes to it. We're not looking for a fight, though, and there's no reason this has to escalate. We need this man's help, lets try to remember to be polite about this._  
  
My caution said, I picked up my soda again and-  
  
The phone on the table in front of me began to ring.  
  
I blinked and, with forced casualness, picked the device up. It was a simple burner phone, but adequate for my purposes. My worm platform was already distended, hidden by the collared shirt I was wearing and trailing down my long sleeved shirt.  
  
Flipping the device open, my worm platform connected and the call was routed directly to a partitioned section of my own, internal, software.  
  
Externally, I made a somewhat disgusted face, closed the phone and laid my hand over it as I placed it back on the table.  
  
_“Mr. Kent Nelson?”_  
  
_“I suppose that depends on who's asking.”_  
  
_“You can call me Drake, sir, but I'd first like to apologize regarding the rather...clandestine method of our communication. I'm afraid circumstance have not been kind to me in the last few months, and I'd rather not attract any undue attention.”_  
  
_“Someone out to get you, then? I think that begs the question of why you're contacting an old codger like me instead of the police.”_  
  
On the private side of the line, the one which only transmitted to me, I heard to intakes of breath.  
  
This was it.  
  
_“I was hoping to speak to Dr. Fate, actually, sir.”_  
  
There was a pause. Not terribly long, but significant enough for me to understand he was digesting what I'd just revealed.  
  
_“I'm afraid Fate's been out of commission for a few decades now, son. If you really think you need that kind of help, I might be able to put you into contact with someone, though.”_  
  
_“If you're referring to one of the current members of the Justice League, I have information which leads me to believe one or more of their roster might be compromised.”_  
  
There was a longer pause this time, more tense as well.  
  
To give my physical body something to do, I took another slow sip of my drink and gave the dinner's menu a slow, cursory glance.  
  
_“That's a rather serious accusation, son. Why don't you start from the beginning?”_  
  
_“To make an extremely long story a bit shorter, you are aware that several League members' sidekicks recently broke into Cadmus labs, correct?”_  
  
_“I think I remember reading something about that in the paper, yes. Those...gemomorophs?”_  
  
_“Genomorphs, sir, but yes. In summation, I managed to escape confinement while they were causing a ruckus. Part of Cadmus' classified research was cloning. Specifically, human cloning, among other things. Another individual who was being kept in cryogenic suspension was Roy Harper, the civilian identity of Green Arrow's junior partner, Speedy.”_  
  
There was a startled inhalation of breath, even as Ray made a noise between a grunt and a growl, echoed by Max.  
  
This much was a calculated dispersal of information, something we'd agreed on. Even if the former Dr. Fate wouldn't help us, he'd still alert Diana to our accusations, something which would doubtless throw the Light's plans into disarray.  
  
Just to be certain, I clarified further.  
  
_“The current Speedy, the one who was on television with Green Lantern at the Hall of Justice just two weeks ago? That's a clone. So is the hero Guardian, who was, and presumably still is, Cadmus' puppet to run their day-to-day operations. The files Cadmus had on them detailed several mental suggestions which had been psychically implanted. The organization behind Cadmus, the one pulling the strings, has had a mole living with Green Arrow's civilian identity and working alongside him for over three years.”_  
  
A long, tired sigh was the only indication any of this had sunk in.  
  
Finally, after nearly a minute, he responded.  
  
_“So why contact me? I can't imagine I'm the easiest individual to get in contact with.”_  
  
_“No, you aren't, but thankfully you've been making a number of hotel reservations in the past few months. I just picked the closest one to DC to leave my package at, and hoped you'd be curious enough to call the number inside. One of the reasons Cadmus and their backers was interested in me was my...technological expertise.”_  
  
_“Informative, but you didn't answer my question. Why me?”_  
  
I took a long, slow, physical breath.  
  
_“I was hoping you would be able to detect and remove any implanted mental commands of the kind the Speedy-clone has been implanted with. If you believe yourself capable, I would be willing to meet with you at a location and time of your choosing.”_  
  
_“...and how do I know this isn't some type of elaborate trap? Someone just shows up out of the blue and feeds me a story like this. You have to understand what this looks like to me.”_  
  
I tapped a finger on the table in front of me, slightly nervous.  
  
_“As I can't guarantee the sanctity of my own mind at this point, sir, I don't think any promise or oath I could make would be sufficient to convince you. However...I will say that it's not only my welfare, possibly life riding on this. I'm...I guess you could say, I'm a volunteer, to determine if you're both capable and trustworthy. Also, I'll point out that I'm not asking you to come alone. I would ask that whoever you invite along not be a standing member of the Justice League. If you can't, or won't, attempt to meet with me, I understand, but I would like an answer soon. There are some...alternatives to your aid, specifically, but none of them were as well-regarded or experienced as you.”_  
  
There was another long pause.  
  
_“Let me make some calls. I can reach you at this number?”_  
  
_“For the next two days, at least.”_  
  
He hung up, and I exhaled.  
  
Then I ordered some cheese fries and settled in to wait on another phone call.


	12. Off The Rails II

  
**July 21, 2010  
10:34:20 GMT -6**  
  
“So, what have we got?” Ray asked quietly as I phased back into the visual spectrum.  
  
“He's here,” I confirmed, allowing my armor to flow back into its containment. “Two friendlies, as expected.”  
  
“Good,” Ray nodded, exhaling as he seemed to be trying to convince himself. “Good.”  
  
“I don't see anyone else,” Max stated, his eyes gleaming oddly in the morning light as he looked around. “This part of the city seems pretty deserted.”  
  
“It's close to low-rent housing areas,” I replied. “Most of the activity is at night. Pretty much everyone who lives around here would either be in bed or at work right now.”  
  
“Good spot for an ambush,” Ray stated cynically, looking over the map spread out before us. “Minimum civilian involvement and the park has a good quarter-kilometer before you hit residential. We sure about this?”  
  
“You're the one who turned down the half-demon escort,” I replied with a sarcastic grin at Ray's snort, though I couldn't blame him. We were all on edge, envisioning the multitude of ways this could all go horribly wrong.  
  
“Well,” I sighed, “since this is my neck on the line, I'm making the call. We're green to go.”  
  
“Roger that glorious leader,” Ray snarked back.  
  
“Understood,” Max nodded once.  
  
“Remember, you two come in if anything goes wrong. I mean, I don't _think_ anything is going to go wrong, but we can't rule out that the Light decided to start mind-slaving anyone they thought was close enough to the Justice League to matter.”

  
“Great speech, now tell us the part where we all die horrible deaths,” Ray deadpanned.  
  
“My _point_ is that you should be prepared to take action, but not _excited_ about the prospect,” I clarified. “There will always be a minute chance something can go wrong, even in a situation which should be relatively simple. Be on guard, but not _jumpy_ about it.”  
  
“I think I understand,” Max nodded, glancing at his watch awkwardly, another habit it seemed he was trying to pick up. “I think it's time now, right?”  
  
“Right,” I nodded, calming my own nerves.  
  
**July 21, 2010  
10:45:03 GMT -6**  
  
It would have been easy to overlook them.  
  
Three older men, all sitting on a park bench, watching the world go by around them. All three were wearing what I'd call 'business casual,' though the style was a bit more refined in Mr. Nelson's case. Regardless, between the...more 'classic' clothing choices as well as their graying hair, and polite, friendly chatter, one could mistake them for any three old men, at least if one didn't know better. There were hints, though, here and there...  
  
After all, as unimpressive as they might seem, these men had survived decades as active superheroes, a world war, and things I could only guess at beyond what the papers documented.  
  
They had carved out legends in one of the greatest times of turmoil in human history, and survived to grow old and gray.  
  
That made them more than just impressive, in my opinion.  
  
That made them _dangerous_.  
  
Nelson spotted me first, looking up at me just as I came into view, the coincidence almost enough to make me wonder if he'd laid out a magic ward or perimeter spell of some kind.  
  
Finding a willing and capable magic user to work with my budding team moved up another notch on my 'to do' list.  
  
Nelson's eyes lingered on me for a long moment, no doubt tracing the slight tips of my pointed ears poking out from my nearly-golden hair. I gave him an amicable nod even as his friends took notice of me.  
  
“You're younger than I thought you'd be,” Mr. Nelson stated as I stopped in front of the large stone bench and table they'd taken up.  
  
I shrugged, “I honestly can't say how old I am. Part of Cadmus' containment measures did significant neurological damage. While I retain most factual information, I believe, a significant portion of my memories relating to...personal events are either damaged beyond repair or completely destroyed. That said, this form...feels correct, at least.”  
  
A number of expressions passed over their faces, a private language born from a long friendship I could only guess at.  
  
“Where are my manners today?” Mr. Nelson finally stated, breaking the brief awkward silence. “Sit. You obviously know me, but this is Jay Garrick and Alan Scott.”  
  
“The original Flash,” I nodded, smiling slightly as I reached out to shake hands, “and the original Green Lantern.”  
  
...well, not truly the 'original' Green Lantern, but I needed to be careful of my phrasing. There was a difference between 'openness' and 'foolish honesty.'  
  
I grinned slightly at their expressions of surprise, “even if I couldn't make an educated guess based on my knowledge of Mr. Nelson's identity, neither of you wore enough of a mask to prevent modern facial recognition software from matching you to your alter egos.  
  
Mr. Garrick grimaced, “hadn't thought of that.” He looked to the others, “think this is going to be a problem? I'm not sure if any of our rogues are still outside of nursing homes, but I don't need someone showing up at the house.”  
  
Something dark passed over their faces, just for a moment, and I decided I didn't want to know.  
  
“It's not likely,” I replied. “If you haven't been targeted already, you're unlikely to be now. If you'd like me to, though, I could subtly alter the publicly available photos of you during your active years. Given how long ago it was that any of you were in the spotlight, there aren't all that many, but it would take me a few months of effort to make sure I didn't attract any attention.”  
  
Mr. Garrick sighed in relief. “That's...nice of you. I'll think on the offer, but like you said, we're fossils. As long as we don't go looking for trouble-”  
  
“-seems exactly what we're doing here,” Mr. Scott grinned slightly, interjecting. “We never could keep our noses out of trouble, Jay, I think this just proves the point.  
  
“For what it's worth,” I stated, “I'm sorry to involve you all in this. If there were other options...”  
  
“There seldom are,” Mr. Nelson said, not unkindly as his fingers massaged the metal head of his cane. “Now, I think that's enough in the way of pleasantries. You want me to look into your mind, young man?”  
  
My mouth twisted slightly. “I was hoping you could determine whether or not a person's mind had been tampered with, without actually reading their mind.”  
  
Kent Nelson pursed his lips. “If I were still Dr. Fate, that might be possible. As it is, to be absolutely certain of matters, I would have to delve...a bit deeper.”  
  
I leaned back, making a show of thinking it over.  
  
_What do you think, guys?_  
  
_Not really a fan of mind-reading._  
  
_Gnh._  
  
I bit back a sigh. Neither Ray nor Max's responses were exactly encouraging, but I wasn't prepared to turn the offer down out of hand.  
  
_Nelson's our first choice. We're here, he's here, he's about as trustworthy as it gets in terms of something like this. It's do or die time._  
  
_...fine. Not exactly happy about it, but fine._  
  
_...alright, I'm in too._  
  
“What happens if I...” I paused, “...if _we_ agree?”  
  
Nelson drummed his fingers on the table for a moment. “It would depend on how many 'we' is.”  
  
“Two, in addition to myself,” I clarified. “Three total. One of them is the original Ray Harper, the other is...a clone of Superman.”  
  
“ _Another one_?” Mr. Garrick asked, his eyes wide, even as the two other older heroes turned to him in surprise. He shook himself. “Barry's rookie, Kid Flash, brought home this kid to stay for a few weeks. Barry let me in on the secret at dinner last week. Cadmus made _two_ clones of Superman?”  
  
“As far as we know,” I replied, filing the information away. “Granted, Cadmus' backers presumably have access to all of Cadmus' cloning technology. Max, the...final member of our group, there were...problems, making him. Superboy, the partial clone you're referring to, is only half-kryptonian. Max is a full clone, but due to developmental problems, wasn't considered ready for deployment in the field. I was able to fix the issue once I broke him out of containment, but we don't know if there are any implanted commands still present in either of them which weren't documented in Cadmus' records. We _do_ know Superboy and the current Speedy both have psychic commands.”  
  
A moment passed as that sunk in.  
  
“I've heard enough,” Kent said, standing. “If you'll call your friends, young man, I think this conversation would best be continued at the Tower.”  
  
Naturally, just as I opened my mouth to assure them that Ray and Max were on their way, it all went to shit.


	13. Off The Rails III

**July 21, 2010  
11:02:30 GMT -6**  
  
He was a walking cliché. The kind of 'tall, dark, and handsome' that makes the covers of womens' trashy romance novels and day-time soap operas. His shirt was split almost to the waist, he had on tight pants, wore his long hair in a ponytail, and had a perfectly-shaped goatee. All in all, he was the kind of guy I'd expect to see chatting up rich old ladies for a cheap payday.  
  
The fact that he'd just teleported into existence, though, kind of put a damper on the idea that he was just here to play the harmless gigolo.  
  
What do you say when a seventies-reject with the visible chest hair to prove it appears out of thin air behind a group of elderly superheroes?  
  
I honestly have no clue.  
  
Which is why I didn't say anything.  
  
I reached for the holster in the small of my back instead.  
  
Even with my enhanced reflexes, even with musculature and a nervous system which were borderline superhuman, I was still nowhere near fast enough. I would have understood, really, if Jay Garrick had beaten me. It would have made sense given his super-speed practically necessitated reflexes which could put mantis shrimp to shame, but it wasn't him who beat me. It wasn't even an autonomous ward erected by Kent Nelson, another consideration I would have bowed to.  
  
No.  
  
By the time my tranq gun was leaving its holster, Alan Scott had already removed his hand from his pocket and was turning to face the interloper, his right fist extended.  
  
How had he known? How had he reacted so quickly?  
  
Had he seen the tan man's reflection in something? Perhaps it had been as simple as seeing my own eyes widen in alarm?  
  
Regardless, a bright green flash of light erupted from Scott's ring, the concussive force of emerald cosmic energy blowing the tan-skinned man off his feet just as he was about to make contact with Nelson.  
  
“Shit!” I cursed, popping two shots into the man's bare chest, irritated beyond words as the darts _plinked_ off some manner of force shield.  
  
“This guy doesn't look like the friends you mentioned,” Garrick shot at me as the man blurred into a more tactical position.  
  
“He's not with me,” I replied, mentally connecting to my comrades.  
  
_Hold guys. Give me a heads up, we have any more company?_  
  
_Nothing I can se-holy shit, duck!_  
  
“Down!” I yelled, rolling to the ground, a ghostly finger hovering over the electronic switch to trigger my suit. I didn't want to lay out all my cards on the table here, in public, with people, _enemies_ , who had already seen 'my' face. If this went much further, though...  
  
Garrick blurred while Nelson and Scott threw up shields of gold and green respectively. Just in time, a wave of bizarrely-colored fire erupting from behind us.  
  
“Well, poo! You dodged...this is why old people just aren't any fun,” an irritated, though amused, voice stated as we turned.  
  
He...or rather _it_ , was subtly _wrong_. There was something too...sharp about the thing which wore a child's appearance, the blacks of its suit too dark and the structure of its face too... _twisted_. Unnatural. Wrong.  
  
“This is normally where I introduce myself, but seeing as you're all going to be dead in a little while,” the thing boasted, absently petting a cat of all things, “I don't think that will matter.”  
  
Meanwhile, a match was returned on my facial recognition search, and the name rang a distant bell. Abra Kadabra, small-time crook. Claimed to be a magician, but if the EM readings I was getting off him were right...  
  
“He's back up,” I yelled, my extended vision and HUD cuing on the rising figure even as he pulled out a wand and gestured.  
  
As debris began to fly about, the boy-thing cackled and made a gesture of his own, throwing an arc of neon-red fire at all four of us.  
  
_That's it, we're coming in!_  
  
I snarled as I drew a concealed flash-bang from the concealed leg-mount I'd purchased several days ago at a gun show. It was really for a firearm, but a few alterations had let me slide a grenade in there.  
  
The grenades I'd had to express order online.  
  
Then something in my head snapped into place and I knew the not-child we were fighting.  
  
_No! Hold position. Max, I need heat-vision on the cat!_  
  
I could almost _feel_ the stupified blink over the comm line as I dodged another wave of fire and slid through a barrage of rocks. Garrick was running interference, but could only be so effective. Scott, on the other hand, looked to be tied down shielding Nelson, who's face was strained as he fired a series of golden bolts to intersect the paths of rocks.  
  
_The cat's important! It's his...familiar! His familiar! I'm throwing the flash-bang, get ready! Kill the damn cat!_  
  
My decision was a cusp-of-the-moment thing, not unlike a gameshow contestant yelling out an answer, any answer, as the clock ticked down. Something rang out within me that this was _right_ , that the cat needed to _die_ before Klarion got tired of playing with us.  
  
My mental count reached five seconds and, with the pin to the flash-bang near my feat, I hurled the cylinder in an over-hand arc.  
  
Several things happened in quick succession at that moment.  
  
Klarion's eyes flicked up to see the slowly-descending grenade, his eyes widening as he raised a hand to either blast the object or shield himself.  
  
My tranq gun slid from my right hand to my left, the now-free hand reaching down the back of my neck to grab the concealed handle of the curved short-sword I'd hidden against my spine.  
  
For future reference, I was going to have to get a cushion of some kind if I did that again.  
  
It was a terribly uncomfortable arrangement.  
  
Regardless, as two bolts of red light streaked in, I drew my blade and began running towards the magical monstrosity.  
  
The beams struck the cat just as Klarion blasted the flash-bang.  
  
My optics overrode the ensuing sound and noise, and I didn't stop even while running blind. My tremorsense knew exactly where Klarion was standing, and I-  
  
My sword sank into flesh and I felt something come free.  
  
Then _reality_ began to _scream_.  
  
I was thrown back probably a hundred feet, slamming into a tree at a speed which would have likely left me paralyzed had it not been for light sub-dermal armor and already-working nanites healing the wound.  
  
Looking up from my dazed state of collapse, I saw something which would be burned into my mind for the rest of my life.  
  
The thing which had once been shaped like a human boy had thrown off its guise, maintaining only the barest hint of its humanoid shape as the gaping wound where its left arm _had been_ showed off blood that tore and ate at the fabric of the world, grotesque shapes and imagery pooling from the hole in the world which mimicked the hole in its body. Its screams of rage and pain set the hairs on my neck standing, the noise at once unearthly and painful. We had hurt it. Hurt it badly, if its cries were any indication.  
  
My gaze dropped to its feet.  
  
...oh, and the cat was dead.


	14. Off The Rails IV

**July 21, 2010  
11:10:30 GMT -6**  
  
There is a part of many rational human beings that, when seeing something in pain, flinches from the prospect of doing more injury to it.  
  
When you see something screaming in pain, its very hard to summon up the will to force yourself to think about striking it again. Even the most heinous criminal, begging before you, triggers some level of reflex to reach out a helping hand. It takes willpower to overcome that urge, to remind yourself that the creature in front of you, be it human or otherwise, is dangerous and lethal even while injured.  
  
Especially while injured.  
  
There's also the temptation to give into the shock of seeing something writhe about in pain and agony. If you aren't conditioned to react in certain ways, your mind just kind of stalls out temporarily. Beyond wanting to help, there's also the inclination not to increase something's suffering. It's a very human impulse that takes training and will to stomp down on and do the safest thing when confronted with an injured enemy who has expressed intent to kill you.  
  
You keep hitting them until they stop moving.  
  
Whatever this howling mad thing before us was, it wasn't human, even if it had been at one point. Nor was it a nice, fluffy eldritch abomination which just needed the power of friendship beaten into it. This thing had come to kill us, here, today. I saw the moment it had made the declaration that our lives were meaningless to it as anything other than an amusement, but I was more than willing to return the favor.  
  
_Max, heat-vision again, vital targets.  
  
I...right._  
  
I could hear the momentary hesitation in his voice before he firmed and twin beams of fire lanced out from his position again, super-heating the air as they passed and leaving red after-image. Both streams struck home, scoring hideous flaming wounds on the creature as its panicked squirming and pained cries increased, seeming to make the very ground beneath out feet quiver.  
  
_Ray, explosive arrows.  
  
Shit...yeah, I gotcha._  
  
Two slower projectiles honed in even as Max blasted away with laser-like precision. Of course, at this stage, that didn't help much. The 'blood' spewing from Klarion's missing limb had begun to twist around and dissolve into the thing's main body. It had stopped looking anything remotely like a human being. By this point, the humanoid shape had deformed and twisted into something that oozed and shivered under the pounding assault we were giving it.  
  
The arrows struck central mass, the lethal ordinance exploding on impact and blowing slimy chunks of flesh that sizzled and popped into congealing slime as the flew threw the air. Still, we were dealing real damage to the 'Witch Boy,' and my spine was just about fixed enough to let me think about making another attempt on it when a screech thousands of times worse than the previous ones set the air on fire.  
  
Literally set the air on fire, mind you.  
  
Waves of fire, spears of ice, chunks of earth, bolts of _lightning_ , and jets of water appeared out of nowhere and ate away at the landscape.  
  
Even while I dodged, rolling frantically with limited mobility, I saw Scott and Nelson raise a ring and cane respectively, gold and green shields overlapping just as Garrick slid under the barrier.  
  
E̷͓͇̹̮͕͈̹͚̔͝N̷̹̅ͦͣͨͣ̐͛̚͢͡O͇̬̠̙͓̝͋̽̋͜Ṳ͙̟ͧ̿͘G͙̝̮̩̖̼̣̃̓ͤͩ́H̷͕̗̗̞ͨ̂͆̇̃̒̅ͧ͆ͅ  
  
I _twitched_ as the growth pulsed once and then began to shrink, Klarion's face pulling itself out of the cancerous mass.  
  
̧̛͔̱̦̊ͬͨͩͯ̉̾ͭ̃D̢̜̩ͭ͒͊͟Ȏ̧̰̤͓̹̝͎̝̌̉͘Ńͨ͏̰͎̬̲̙͖̞ͅ'͒ͥ̌͏̙̣̞Tͭ̿̃ͫ̉͋͘͜͏̬̮̺ ̮̏ͩͫ͆ͤ̊Ṫ͎̙̻̣͓͓͍ͨ͛̄ͥ͛̚H͎̳̣̖͎͈̞̪̅̏̓̏̇͞I͙̫͓̞͕͓ͪͧͩ̍̒̍̓̚ͅN̢ͫ́͑̉̐̓̈́҉̦K̦̖̟̠̊ͪ̽͂̔̎̇̓̓ ̡̝͓̤ͫ̀͆̔̉̅͢Y̶̧̙̯͍̜̺ͧ͛̈͒̚O͕̪̱̘ͭ̈̈͂̿͌̅͟ͅṶ̶͚̬̰̣̩̠̔̈́ͩ̀̿̓'ͤ̇͏̠͉̖̜ͅͅͅV̯̭̻̟̱͚̼͓̓̎ͩ͗ͫ̀͝E̬̪̞̐̀-̗̹̖͈̠͋ͩ̈̀̿͡ͅ  
  
_Ray? Max? Hit him again._  
  
A second passed, but then more arrows and beams of searing red light slammed into the shivering, shrinking, tumor.  
  
̴̖̼͕̠̬͚̜̦̜͋͛̾̒͆͛̀-̟̬̦ͣ̈́́ͯ̚͞Ġ̢̹̳̱͍̜͋̀͆͒ͭͤͥ̚͢A̩̤̼̩͔̅̋ͨ̄̔̿H̠̙̪͍̞̟̪͐ͦͨͧ̈̿͐ͥ!̘͔͖̊ͦ̂͛̍ͤͮͨ͋ ̸̦͉̙̏̒͆͋̓̃͡F̷̼͔̮̦͈͙̮͍̾́̿͢͡Ụ̭̘̙̤̯ͯͦ̏̑͞͞C̱̝̺͈̖̖ͫ̍͊͢͝K̖͈̟̗̟̮̒͒̓ͭͣ͂̓̈!̽̃҉̬͕̫̯̥̬͓ ̸̘͚̬̝͉͈͕̯͙ͦ͘͟I̖̺͎̩͑ͬ̀̚͢'̴̶̭̳͖̜̻̥̹͛́̐̌ͭ̿ͧ̓͞L̜͍͎̲̭̤̮͕̒͗ͦͯ̾ͮ̀͟Ļ̸̛̹͍̣͙̄͌̾̆͊ͩͧ ̶͓̹̜̠͉̆ͮ̓ͪ̉͆̔́̚K̙͖̩̞͙̘̮͔͐̍̔̃̔ͫI̱̓ͧ̔ͬ͋͛́L̗͙̮̓͋̄L̴̝̯̰͊ͨ͊̌̄͋̈ͪ͞͞ ̎̈͊̉̆̾̄ͬ͊҉̻̱͈͕̜̤̭̯̹Ỵ̗̮̔ͩ͛̓O̟̥̠̣ͣ̔͗͢Ù̶̴̞̥̪̄̕ ̵̾̒̂̊̎ͦ͊̽̈́҉̷͇̣̳͙͚̥̘ͅA̗̣̫̠̰͊͑̅̓̋̆́L̙̞͙͕̜̞̓ͬͬ͒ͭ͘͟L̦͖̞̲̖̩͍̈́͗̎̐́͑̃!̸͕̠̲̥̽ͩ̒ͅ ̴̮̫̟͈͎̝ͮ̊͗͗̉M̢̠̖͚ͣ̌̒ͨ͌̐Ų̷̶̝͇͈ͩͮͪ̓̅̌͑R̶͔̙͔̄ͣ̓ͥ̌͛͡D̥̯̤̙̭̱̱̎̾ͨ̒́ͩ͘͟E̜̣͔̩̽ͪͫ̌̊R̞̬͎͎̘̔̊ͭ̎͊ ͣ̒̋̃ͩͣ̑̈́͏̢̻͈̦̤̗͇͉͠ͅͅŸ̲͎̥̠͙́ͣͨͤ̂̚ͅO̡̩͍̘͙ͥͮͩ̂́Ų͇̠͖̓̓̈́͊͂̅R̢͉͇ͭ͑͋ͩ̀̃ͤ̀ ̦͇͈ͧ̏ͬ͢͟F̷͇͙͚͖̃̉̇͞A̶̴̺͎̗̬̭̣̰ͦ͌̒̾͞M̢̬͙ͥIͨ͋̐̒͛҉̷͇̲̰̳̝̤̞̀L̦͎̳̰̰̪͒̃̄̑ͥͅͅÍ̀ͥ̾̾̚҉͏̺Ẽ̢̼̼̹͖̫͆ͥ̓͠͝Sͮ̏́͊̐͏̤͈̲͈͚̙̩!̡̺͆ͫͬ̋̒̓ͬ ̢̤̹̲̺̩͉̻̯ͯ̔͗̕̕F̡̱̞̂ͫͨL̪͉̿̈̃ͦ̀A̡͔̼͚̦ͤ̎͗̕Y͖͍̮̤̲̞̠͋ͩͭ̈͋ͨ̉ ̨̥̤̬̣̫͈̄̍̐ͤ̑̕T̗͍ͩ͒ͦͮ͌̊̅́͠Ȟ̦̼̳͍̹̼̈͌͑̌ͦͭͣË҉̞̫̣̹͉͍̻ ̵̖̞̣̲̐ͬ͐ͦͯ̇̕F̴̨͓̻ͤ̉̾͂̓̋͌L͍ͮ͐̃E͎̣̹ͮͪ̓̒͡S̝̫̱̰̩͓̹ͩ̽̅̀͋ͅH̴̪͕̫̟͉͖͍̽ͣ̋͆ͩ͋͡ ̨̛̠̇̓͛ͅF̧̰̹̙̱͖̻̪̘͌͌ͩ̾̀̎̓̽͜R̸̙̜̮̩͋̋ͫ̿ͣ͜O̘̝͊̇ͪ͒̃̉̏Ṃ͖̪͌́̅͗̿̑̍͝͞ͅ ͚̺̣͇͔͕ͨͮͦ͆͑̈͒Y̸̨͈͔̹͛͌ͪ̉͑ͧ̔Ö͇̣̥́ͭ̋̆ͨ͊̓ͯ͑̀͘͡Ų̠̰͎͗͆͊̇ͤ̉̌̚̚͢͡R̓̏ͯͩ́͏͇̱ ̞͎͇̦̥̹̎̅ͣͩ́ͅB̸ͬ̾̾̑̐ͯ͋̆́ͅO̲̠̦͕̻̯̗͗͊̐̊ͫͭ͌͟ͅN̦͗ͭ̀̇͐͗̀̀͟-͓̘̼̲͎̫̮̗ͪ̍̂  
  
Then, with a final curse, the air around the small mass seemed to cave in on itself, a dark hole in the world forming that hurt to look at, the last of the mass disappearing before, with a _pop_ , the hole sealed itself.  
  
I looked around at the scene of devastation, idly noting Kadabara's insensate body lying against a fallen tree. From the rise and fall of his chest, he seemed to be alive, but I couldn't tell much other than that.  
  
The park had been completely and utterly destroyed. Trees were ripped from their roots, huge craters blown into the ground itself with jagged blocks of concrete and what might have been playground equipment jutting out of the earth. A few picnic tables and downed tree were on fire while the scenic stone tables I and the older superheroes had been sitting at were reduced nearly to dust.  
  
Sirens wailed in the distance.  
  
“So,” Alan Scott interjected into the silence, “Kent. I've got a funny story. An old pal of mine calls me up and says someone wants to have his brain scanned because he thinks a secret organization might have brainwashed him and infiltrated the Justice League.”  
  
Nelson, for all that his face was covered in a fine sheen of sweat and in the process of popping a pill, looked far too amused.  
  
“This friend of mine says he needs some extra help. Nothing big, he promises, 'cause we're all retired.” Scott seemed to be enjoying himself as much as he was irritated. “So I think to myself, 'sure, why not? It's been a while since I put the ring back on. Maybe after we get done with that cockamamie story, he and I and another old friend can get a late lunch?”  
  
Garrick snorted.  
  
“You remember how you love to tell that story about that mess I got us into back in '53?” Scott grinned toothily. “Payback, Kent. It's been sixty years, but karma pays all debts.”  
  
“My wife is going to kill me if I come home with rubble on me,” Jay sighed, looking at his concrete dust-stained clothing.  
  
There were a few seconds of companionable silence so thick and full of history that even I hesitated to interrupt, the three men basking in the adrenaline high that had come with our brief engagement.  
  
Then the sound of air being displace above us broke the tableau, an archer with blonde-dyed hair dropping from where he'd briefly clung to the thickly-muscled black-haired teen floating down to ground level.  
  
Ray...did not look happy. Then again, I think Ray _liked_ being pissed off, at least a little, so maybe he wasn't the best metric to judge things by.  
  
Max...looked slightly grumpy, which for him was a declaration of unfathomable irritation.  
  
“If you three are done having a senior moment here?” Ray's acerbic tones cut through the smoldering park, “maybe we can get out of here before the police get here?”  
  
Max said nothing, stoically...or awkwardly, sometimes I couldn't tell the difference, surveying both the older superheores and our destroyed surroundings. I noticed that he, at least, had remembered to grab the huge duffel bags containing our gear.  
  
Kent huffed a laugh. “I suppose we should at that. Alan, if you would grab the reprobate on the ground over there? I think we could have a very illuminating conversation with him, once he wakes up.”  
  
A glowing green hand emerged from Scott's power ring, wrapping about Abra and pulling him into the air.  
  
So said, Kent held his cane up, the head glowing brightly with the outline of an ankh as a golden portal formed. “Come along now, boys, it seems we've got a great deal to discuss.”  
  
I limped forward, my spine not quite having finished realigning itself.


	15. Off The Rails V

**July 21, 2010**

**19:15:30 GMT -5**

  
“...and that's pretty much the entire story,” I finished, having done the majority of the storytelling by virtue of being the only one to have been awake for the opening chapters. After that, it became a matter of allowing Max and Roy to interject with their own information. Specifically, Kent had been very interested in both how the original Speedy had ended up in Cadmus' custody and exactly what they'd been 'teaching' Max while he'd been growing.  
  
Across from us, the three older superheroes sat in quiet consideration, exchanging furtive looks between themselves.  
  
“I think the thing I'm most concerned about,” Scott stated, speaking up as he took a slow swallow from the glass in front of him, “is this 'knowledge' you claim to have regarding superheroes and villains. Are you _sure_ you can't tell us anything more than you have?”  
  
“A lot of what I know relates to the private identities of many superheroes,” I stated again, “and as such, I really don't feel comfortable revealing any of it without their explicit permission.”  
  
“Honestly,” Garrick chipped in, “I think the boy's got the right of it. I'd be more worried if he was quoting us chapter and verse, trusting us blindly.”  
  
“I agree with Jay,” Nelson said, tapping at his cane idly. “...but the matter of the boy's knowledge might be somewhat easily explained.”  
  
I blinked and traded a look with my own friends. “Really?”  
  
Nelson nodded, and pointed at me, “you said you feel that the form you're currently wearing is 'natural' to you?”  
  
“More or less,” I replied. If I actually had to put a name to what my fae-like body felt...it would be 'default.' Granted, it didn't actually have a label as such in any of my systems, but this body felt the most...'right' of any configuration I'd tried.  
  
“And you know the Elven language?” Nelson pressed, now rubbing at his chin.  
  
I frowned. “It's one of the languages I have in my drives,” I tapped my head, “but English feels more natural.”  
  
“The primary theory I would put forth,” Nelson stated slowly, considering his words, “would be that you are, in fact, an elf then.”  
  
I blinked again, nonplussed, but as I opened my mouth, Nelson raised a hand.  
  
“Now, granted, I've never seen one of your species so heavily...augmented, at least technologically. Still, the [Realm of Faerie](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Faerie_%28DC_Comics%29) has a strange...disconnect with the flow of time and the fabric of space. It's quite possible you are from the future where such knowledge might be commonplace...or possibly from a parallel world.” Nelson paused, thinking as he stared into the distance. “The Fae, by and large, tend to move about more freely among the various planes and dimensions, though they have not strayed into the mundane world recently.”  
  
I chewed on the explanation thoughtfully. It certainly sounded _interesting_ , though I wouldn't say it necessarily rang true...  
  
“Such an explanation would also lend credence to your knowledge of Klarion's status as a Lord of Chaos and the fact that the cat was his familiar,” Nelson pointed out shrewdly, smiling slightly with a smug tinge to it.  
  
“So then...I know magic?” I asked dubiously.  
  
“Not consciously,” Garrick interjected and we turned to look at him. “I've had some experience with head trauma sufferers, though given how much of your brain is a computer...” He shrugged. “Anyway, the brain tends to remember odd things when you take that kind of damage. You're hitting a lot of the hallmarks of amnesiacs, but missing others. I can only assume it's because of your...what'd you call it?”  
  
“Cyberbrain,” I answered absently. “...and what about my...” The word was on the tip of my tongue. “ _Aura_? Is that it?”  
  
Nelson smiled wider, though looked a bit confused on the matter. “I'll say that it's not like anyone's I've ever seen before, but the soul and aura usually reflect the physical being and I've never met an elf before. I can only make an educated guess that you would be compatible with whatever school of magic elves use...or perhaps your incompatibility might have been the reason for such a drastic alteration to your body?”  
  
I frowned, holding the thought in my mind and considering it. “I...don't think I got a choice. I feel like...it was forced, but...” My brows furrowed. “I think I got to _choose_ exactly what I became.”  
  
The technology I carried on and within me _resonated_ on some level. It felt _right_. It felt like, if I had had a choice, _this_ would be what I would choose.  
  
Light, stealthy, fast, and with a few vicious weapons and a ton of utility skills.  
  
“So I'm an elf...either from the future or a parallel world,” I stated slowly, deciding to trust the man's analysis.  
  
He was, after all, the resident expert on the subject of magic.  
  
“Will that cause a problem in what we're asking?” I probed, changing tracks.  
  
Nelson leaned back, taking a long pull from his glass of wine. “...I shouldn't think so. While an extremely powerful mind or soul can repulse even a voluntary entry by a foreign body, none of you are at that level. You, Drake, and you, Max, are certainly _abnormal_ from the perspective of a baseline human soul and mind, but neither of you have the kind of innate power which could throw me out. Unless you've forgotten considerable skill in defending your mind, Drake, this should work out well.”  
  
“Good to hear,” Roy stated brusquely. “Not to rush or anything, but can we get on with this? We've got some accounts to settle once we know a magic word won't make us start killing each other.”  
  
Scott frowned, “I wanted to bring that up as well. You three said that there's this big supervillain conspiracy out to take down the Justice League, and from what I've seen I believe you. Hell, that Klarion-thing might have been in on it. You don't normally see a small-time guy like you said Kadabara was working with someone upper-tier like a Lord of Chaos.”  
  
Garrick nodded, speaking from experience as well, “at least, not without some major incentive.”  
  
Max scowled, “we should have held him or-”  
  
“Stop right there, young'in,” Nelson shook his head. “Now that I know what Klarion was, you three need to understand you were incredibly lucky to do as much damage as you did. He'll be licking his wounds for a long time, especially without a familiar on the mortal plane, but none of us had the power to really kill something like that, not without Fate himself there anyway. Even with high-energy attacks, non-magical damage can only go so far on a Lord of Chaos.”  
  
“So we need magic to kill him?” Max asked instead of backing down.  
  
The elders exchanged worried glances. “Sure, kid, but we're not talking about some half-trained neophyte. You'd need someone with talent and skill to spare...not to mention power on a level that's more than just rare.”  
  
The kryptonian clone nodded, obviously thinking the matter over.  
  
Nelson grimaced and Scott moved to speak, obviously wanted to further dissuade any of us from seeking out a fight with the Witch Boy, but I beat him to it.  
  
“Why don't we talk about what we should do about Klarion later?” I asked, seeking to table the discussion rather than 'win' it. “Could we go ahead with the brain scan. I think we'd all feel a lot better knowing we're not going to go berserk if someone says 'chimichanga' or something.”  
  
Nelson snorted, but nodded. “I suppose that would be best. Let's get to my workshop and I'll walk you through getting ready. If it's all right with you, I'll be using a ritual variant of the spell, which means-”  
  
I listened intently, wondering if anything would jog my mind and knock loose a memory.


	16. Off The Rails VI

  
**July 22, 2010  
09:55:49 GMT -5**  
  
Alan locked an arm around Kent and slowly lowered him back into the seat, his own hands occupied with lifting the golden helm of Fate from his head and dropping it into his lap.  
  
“Well, that's the last of it, I think,” Kent sighed deeply, mopping the sweat off his forehead as he did so. “Alan? Could you get me my pills?”  
  
“Sure,” the younger-looking man nodded, “you just rest Kent. You've done more than enough.”  
  
I scowled and picked up a glass of water, holding it out for the man. “I'm sorry. I didn't know you were in ill health.”  
  
Though I tried to shake off the strange feeling that I _should have_.  
  
“We've all got to die sometime, kid,” Kent snorted, taking a deep drink of the water.  
  
“I...” my mouth began, but then stopped as I frowned. I had wanted to say, 'I don't believe in death,' but something told me that was a _very_ bad thing to say. “What if...you didn't have to?”  
  
Kent frowned and narrowed his eyes at me. “What's that supposed to mean?”  
  
“Do you remember, sir, when I talked about fixing the genetic damage done to Max by the faulty cloning? Or when I talked about regrowing Ray's arm?” I asked intently.  
  
“Let's say I do,” Kent replied noncommittally. “What's that got to do with the price of tea in china?”  
  
I consulted my systems with a quick check, “beyond the simple damage to your heart...aging is, ultimately, a genetic defect of organic systems.”  
  
Kent looked down at the helm in his lap...or perhaps the cane leaning on his chair.  
  
Did he even see them? Or what they represented? The hero he had been in his youth and the old man he had become.  
  
“Here's your pills, Kent,” Alan stated, walking in and slowing slightly as he saw the expression on my face as well as his old friend's. “I feel like I just walked into something serious.”  
  
“The boy just offered me a fountain of youth,” Kent snorted, then popped a white oval in his mouth. “I'm waiting for the catch.”  
  
“No catch,” I waved a hand. “My Series Two Hydra Nanites are specifically designed to repair both organic and technological material. It's not all that useful in the field because of how long it takes to do, especially the more pervasive the injury. Something like this would likely take days worth of treatment, maybe a week on the outside. You'd need to eat and drink a lot more than you usually do as well. Finally, it wouldn't necessarily be instantaneous. It's very likely that the process would result in a gradual and slow 'de-aging.' Your hair would grow in more thickly, you'd gain muscle mass,things like that. In a month or two you'd probably look you were in your thirties instead of your nineties.”  
  
There was a long moment of silence as the two older men exchanged looks.  
  
Finally, Kent leveraged himself up, tucking the helmet under his arm. “Alan, I think we should call the others in for this chat.”  


**July 22, 2010**

**10:08:49 GMT -5**

  
“Alright,” Kent breathed tiredly. “I'm afraid it's a bit discourteous of me, but my guests will have to make their own breakfasts...or lunches, as the case may be. Between taking care of young Ro-ah, excuse me, _Ray_ last night and and then Max and Drake this morning, I'm afraid I'm too tired to see to your needs.”  
  
“That's fine Kent,” Jay shook his head, a faintly amused smile at the continued attempts of the man to be polite, despite looking as though he was close to collapse. “Should you really be up at all? We can do this later if you'd like.”  
  
“No need to hold things up on my account,” Kent shook his head, “besides, I need to explain what I found while inside the heads of the young men here.”  
  
Max, Ray, and even I straightened a bit at the statement.  
  
“Firstly,” Kent continued, “you'll be pleased to know that all three of you are free of any implanted compulsions at this point. Ray had only the bare minimum of suggestions which would have rendered him catatonic had they been employed. Max...the modification to his mind were much more far-reaching. Sufficed to say, they could have made him attack his allies or render him susceptible to further implanted orders at the drop of a hat.”  
  
Finally, he turned to me, “you, though, did not have any detectable psychic command suggestions. From what I could gleam, something about your brain made it difficult for them to inject foreign thoughts into your mind. As I am far from an expert on your...cyber brain, I can only surmise that the source of the difficultly they had lies somewhere in that technology. Given everything I found in all of your minds, though, I will state without hesitation that you are telling the complete and utter truth.”  
  
As one, my friends and I breathed a small sigh of relief and relaxed.  
  
“Shit,” Jay sighed, sliding back into his seat and pulling out his wallet.  
  
“I told you, it was a sucker's bet,” Alan grinned as he accepted the twenty. “They've got honest faces.”  
  
I snorted, even as Roy's face darkened.  
  
Max just cocked his head curiously.  
  
“You were _betting_ on whether or not we were telling the _truth?_ ” Roy bit out incredulously.  
  
“Kid,” Jay shook his head, putting his lighter leather pouch away, “when you get to be our age, you've seen more than your fare share of apocalypses, mad men, and mind control. It might be a big deal to you three that someone's subverted members of the Justice League, but this might as well be Tuesday for us.”  
  
I smirked. “It's always Tuesday, isn't it? You'd think it would be Monday, but Tuesday 's a sneaky bastard.”  
  
Alan and Jay cracked up at my assertion, even Kent cracking a smile. Max gave an awkwardly amused expression while Ray just rolled his eyes.  
  
“I swear to god,” he sighed, “I'm surrounded.” He shook his head and then intertwined his fingers as he rested his elbows on the table. “So, what do we do now?”  
  
The laughter dropped off slowly as we all sat silently.  
  
“I think the first thing we need to do is determine how many, if any, of the League are compromised,” I stated pointedly. “Or, rather, _you_ should.”  
  
I raised my hand, making a vague gesture towards the three elder heroes as they blinked in surprise, though Kent seemed to be the exception.  
  
“Hmm,” Kent scowled, toying with his cane. “The idea has merit. None of our young friends here have any real way to make their suspicions known to any current League members without giving away the game.”  
  
He tapped the gold head of his walking stick.  
  
“There's also the matter of the Lord of Chaos which confronted us in Texas,” Kent stated thoughtfully. “From the way he attacked us, especially when he and I made eye contact, I think he was specifically attacking us to get at me.”  
  
They had made eye contact? I hadn't noticed.  
  
Then again, I'd been somewhat busy avoiding being incinerated.  
  
“They wanted Nabu,” I stated, looking somewhat apprehensively at the golden helm sitting innocuously on the table before us.  
  
Kent chuckled, “I believe so, yes, although after realizing exactly how much you know about various...topics, Drake, I would give a great deal to know exactly where you learned all that information.”  
  
I stiffened, and made to reply, but Kent held up a hand to silence me.  
  
“Rest assured, young man, that I did not delve too deeply, despite my curiosity. You have my word on that.” Kent met my eyes for a moment, and I subsided. It rankled that he looked _at all_ , but we had signed up for at least that much.  
  
“Regardless, though, you are correct that Klarion the Witch Boy's objective was most likely the Helm of Fate, where Nabu resides. Now, the fact that we are just now discovering this conspiracy as well as Klarion's attack on me tends to suggest a conspiracy, but I'm not sure we should take correlation for causation.”  
  
“Just because two things happen near each other or at the same time,” Max stated, “doesn't mean that one caused the other.”  
  
“Correct,” Kent nodded, smiling at the kryptonian. “It seems the least they could do is give you a good logical education.”  
  
“There are also some other coincidences regarding supervillain attacks recently,” I pointed out. Such things were easy enough to find out with google and an internet connection. “For instance, the reason why the sidekicks were investigating Cadmus was because the sorcerer named Wotan was attempting to blot out the sun and taking up the Justice League's attention. Earlier that day there were four nearly-simultaneous attacks by ice-themed supervillains, all of which were captured with relative ease and went quietly to jail, despite all of them having a history of escaping custody in transit.”  
  
We all considered that for a moment.  
  
“None of the ice villains are on the same level as Luthor or that _thing_ which attacked us in Dallas,” Ray stated. “Even Freeze just doesn't cut it for the kind of reach and power we're looking at for potential Light membership. That said, we're thinking any or all of these villains might be dupes for the Light.”  
  
“So while we can't conclusively _prove_ that Klarion was working for or with the Light,” Jay thought aloud, “we should continue working under the possibility that all of these events are connected?”  
  
“Which brings us back around to what we should do,” Alan stated.  
  
“I was thinking a reunion, honestly,” Kent replied thoughtfully. “How many of the old crowd do you think we can get together?”  
  
“The ones that aren't six feet under?” Jay asked, leaning back and looking at the ceiling. “I think...well, no, I know [Wildcat's](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wildcat_%28comics%29#Ted_Grant) still kicking. Let's see...[Miss America](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Miss_America_%28DC_Comics%29) died a few years after she took care of the Three Mile Island reactor. The big C.”  
  
Both Kent and Alan winced at the reminder, even as I wished for a wireless connection. Unfortunately, the Tower of Fate was shielded. Between the research I'd done on the JSA and the All-Star Squadron, I knew who she was and could imagine what had happened, but I keyed up a note to remind me to look it up.  
  
“[Mid-Nite](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctor_Mid-Nite#Charles_McNider) is still around,” Alan volunteered. “I'm not sure about [Sandman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Sandman_%28Wesley_Dodds%29)...”  
  
“He...disappeared,” Kent stated slowly. “I heard he was visiting Europe back in the eighties, but he completely dropped off the radar after that.”  
  
Jay tapped at the table. “[Starman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starman_%28Ted_Knight%29).”  
  
The other two blinked, turning to him. Alan cocked his head, “really? I could have sworn...”  
  
Jay shook his head, “he faked his death. The reasons why he did it were good at the time, but I know he wouldn't want to miss this. I can get in contact with him.”  
  
“What about [Doctor Occult](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Doctor_Occult)?” I asked, interjecting, remembering my research on the old crowd of heroes.  
  
All three men shivered at my question, an awkward silence descending.  
  
“Even if we knew how to get in contact with him...” Kent trailed off, looking around as if trying to find the right words.  
  
“Occult was always kind of like our Batman,” Jay filled in. “He was a reservist, none of us knew all that much about him, and he mostly kept to himself. I don't think any of us have heard from him since...the break up of the Society, at least.”  
  
“What about [Hourman](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hourman)?” Kent asked, driving the conversation away from the topic.  
  
Jay and Alan grimaced.  
  
“Overdose,” Alan admitted quietly. Then perked up as he snapped his fingers. “[Terrific](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Mister_Terrific_%28Terry_Sloane%29)! He's in a wheelchair, but he's not quite dead yet.”  
  
Jay sighed, then shook his head, “So, as interesting as this depressing stroll down memory lane is, why are we discussing a bunch of washups? Even if you set the bar as low as you can,” he gestured to the three of them, “none of us can compete with any of the spry young bucks on the League today, which is what it sounds like we're planning.”  
  
“Not the entire League,” Kent replied, raising a finger. “Just one. If we can capture one of the League and determine whether or not they're compromised, we can move forward.”  
  
“Even one of the League members...” Alan waffled.  
  
“Which is why I'd like to ask one of our new young friends a few very pointed questions about his ability to heal people,” Kent stated, turning to me.  
  
I blinked, my mouth forming a slow 'oh' of realization.


	17. Off The Rails VII

July 22, 2010  
11:30:15 GMT -5

“Okay, I've got good news and bad news,” I finished, withdrawing my hands from Alan's arm.

“Tell it to me straight, doc,” Alan quipped, “how long do I have left?”

I snorted, but sighed ponderously as Kent and Jay looked up from the various electronic documents which were displayed on one of the laptops I'd purchased. Contained within, on a unique and modified version of linux with the best encryption money couldn't buy as well as more subtle protections, was much of the data I'd gathered on the Light, Cadmus, and a few of the odd 'coincidences' which had occurred the day of our escape. I was wary about placing such information on a machine which would always be more vulnerable than my own cyberbrain, but Max and Ray needed to be able to check the information as well, without being reliant on me.

Besides, if that machine got too far away from me, it would automatically brick itself after a certain period of time, then it would overheat itself and reduce the harddrive to a gooey sludge.

My companions, in addition to occasionally offering guidance to the strange and perplexing mysteries of modern technology, were also carefully leafing their way through some reference guides and creature compendiums Kent had on file as part of the Tower's library. I would need to take a scanner to those later.

“Well, you're not going to die anytime soon, first off,” I reassured the man. “Honestly, you're as healthy as a horse, but...I'm not going to be able to do all that much for you in terms of repairing your DNA.”

Max and Ray looked up from their work now, both interested and concerned.

“Why not?” Kent asked, his thumb rubbing along the edge of his cane worriedly. “You were able to do a bang up job with my heart, boy.”

I sighed as he rubbed his chest, obviously enjoying having the organ back to full-functioning capacity. All told, Kent's heart was fairly simple, just a bad valve and muscle fatigue. It had taken barely thirty minutes to repair. Alan's problem was...significantly more complicated.

“Okay, can I ask a few questions before I get into what's wrong?” I asked Alan directly.

He traded glances with his friends, but gave me a hesitant nod, “shoot.”

“You found your lantern back in the...thirties, right? Shortly before you started fighting crime in Gotham?” I asked, frowning as I wondered if the strange archive of knowledge I had in my head could be trusted again.

“Pretty much,” Alan nodded, crossing his arms and not bothering to hide his suspicion at my well-informed nature.

“...and your ring? It's just a piece of the lantern you use to focus the energy from it, right?” I pressed.

“That's right,” Alan nodded, his brow furrowing. “It's not one of those fancy ones the Guardian's boys have. We don't really get on all that well, what with their bosses not having me under their thumb.”

“Okay,” I said, drawing out the word, “I think that's the issue here. What do you know about the emotional spectrum?”

Alan blinked.

“Nevermind,” I waved him off, not wanting to hurt the man's pride by forcing him to admit ignorance. “Basically, there are nine colors of light in the emotional spectrum, each corresponding to an emotion or force in the universe. Red, Orange, Yellow, Green, Blue, Indigo, Violet, Black, and White. Respectively, they match up to Anger, Avarice, Fear, Willpower, Hope, Compassion, Love, Death, and Life.”

“I'm...not sure life and death are emotions, exactly,” Alan stated, scratching at his chin.

I opened my mouth, stopped, and thought it over.

Then shook my head. Not the time. “I think it has to do more with the culmination and absence of the emotions rather than direct correspondence with those two. Anyway, the most important thing is that green light corresponds to willpower and that's what you use to control and manipulate the light you store from your ring, correct?”

“Sounds right, at least,” Alan confirmed, obviously wondering where I was going with this.

“Power rings,” I explained patiently, “proper ones, at least, not only work as a tool to help you focus the light of your choice more coherently, but they also serve as a kind of...filter to keep the wielder of the ring from being overly affected by the energy they wield.”

There was a thoughtful and anxious silence as Alan's eyes drifted to stare at his ring thoughtfully. “You said...'proper' power rings.”

“Right,” I nodded, “which means you've been using unfiltered green light for...decades. As near as I can tell, there have been side effects.”

Alan's fingers tightened around his ring. “So...what? It's killing me?”

I shook my head, “It's actually keeping you alive.”

Alan's head shot up, staring at me. I took that as a sign to continue. “Mr. Scott...not to put too fine a point on it, but you're pushing a hundred. You don't look that far over seventy.”

The older man blinked, turning his head to his comrades for confirmation. Jay shrugged, but Kent nodded thoughtfully.

The former Dr. Fate spoke up, “he's right, Alan. I'd always thought it was good genes and clean living, but...”

Jay snorted, “with how much he used to drink? Yeah right. I actually wondered whether he'd figured out how to run his liver off that ring.” Jay leaned back, a small smile on his face. “Should have made a bet back then. I'd have really raked it in.”

Alan rolled his eyes, turning back to me, “so what does this all mean?”

“Bluntly?” I asked, receiving a nod in reply. “If you stop using your ring altogether you've got...probably a few months, maybe a few years at the most before your body starts failing. If you keep using your ring...well, part of the reason why I can't do all that much for you is because some of your body is being supported, reinforced, or outright replaced with green light. The more you use your ring, the more willpower you feel and allow yourself to be driven by...the younger you'll feel. Really, the younger you'll be, as long as you keep it up.”

I sighed and leaned back, pursing my lips, “long term? I'm not completely sure, but...I think your body will start to transmute into green light. You'll still be you, for the most part, but...well, the closest I can think to compare what you would become would be a Willpower Elemental.”

Alan nodded, then licked his lips as he stood, clapping me once on the shoulder to my surprise wordlessly, then turning to Kent. “I need some fresh air. I'll be back in a few hours.”

He left without another word.

I grimaced and stood, but Kent raised a hand and shook his head.

“Alan just needs some time,” Kent said, not unkindly. “You were straight with him, something he appreciates, but that kind of news...even someone who's been through as much as we have, hearing something like that can rattle you.”

“I think I'm going to duck out real quick too, Kent,” Jay interjected. “I'm going to need to talk some of this over with the wife, especially the...offer.” He turned back to me. “You're sure you can do this?”

I nodded. “The only complication in your case, Mr. Garrick, is...whatever those chemicals are bonded to your tissues. If it's the remnants of the formula which gave you your super-speed like you believe, I'll need to work around it. I might only be able to push you back to your fifties, maybe late forties.”

Jay nodded, “still a damn sight better than ninety.”

With a tilt of his head to Kent and a flash, one of the fastest men alive was gone.

“Well, not that this isn't all terribly interesting,” Ray stated in the ensuing silence, “but I'm a little lost on how resurrecting the Army of the Elderly gets us closer to taking down the Light.”

Kent gave a bitter chuckle and jabbed his cane at Ray, “you need to learn to watch your tongue, boy. Still, you've got a point.”

“Right now,” I spoke up, distracting Ray from his impending feud with Kent. “We're mostly setting up a contingency plan. If the League really has been compromised, there's no way only the three of us could stop them. Once we start moving against them in force, we'll need all the help we can get. Every former member of the Justice Society has decades of experience whereas we've got less than half a single decade collectively.”

Ray's shoulders dropped from an angry tenseness to a dissatisfied frustration. “Fine, but what do we do in the meantime?”

“You seem to be availing yourselves of my library just fine,” Kent threw back, an eyebrow raised. “Besides, I still haven't given up on talking you boys out of this foolhardy crusade of yours. If I can get you to stick around long enough to teach you how to detect and counter magical threats, I might have a chance to smack some sense into you three.”

“With all due respect, sir,” Max stated, surprisingly polite for his tone, “you know what they've done to us. What they would have use me to do to other people. We can't let that go.”

Kent sighed, shaking his head, a hand dipping into his pocket and extracting a gold watch. “I also know what it's like to be young and stupid. This isn't a road you three want to travel. Revenge is a nasty business, take it from someone who knows.”

I frowned, “this isn't about revenge, sir. Or, at least, not all about revenge. This is about stopping people who have a laundry list of crimes against humanity and sentience, people who have gotten away with too much for too long.”

Kent pursed his lips as he flipped open the watch. “You know...I felt the same way, back in World War Two? I was in Europe, you know? The history books like to say a lot of what we did was stopping evil men from doing more evil...and I suppose it was.”

The old man looked up at us, his eyes dark, “but there was a lot of revenge back then, too. The people they'd hurt, the ones we found that were barely living corpses...it was hard not to take at least a little pleasure in putting an end to them. Some of us almost destroyed ourselves ripping apart the German war machine. Some of the things they did...some of the things we did...”

Kent snapped the watch shut, the click of the latch loud in the quiet room.

“I suppose what I'm trying to say is that living your life...moving on, it's sometimes a lot harder than finding something easy to die for. A lot of stupid kids your ages I knew during the war and after decided that making evil men hurt was more important than coming back alive. It ate them up inside.”

“Took a few bites out of me, come to admit it.” Kent nodded to himself, popping the watch open again. “My lovely Inza managed to put the pieces back together. After she died, though, everything came apart again.” He looked up at us with a bitter half-smile. “You know this is the first time I've seen Jay and Alan in person in ten years? If I hadn't needed to find an heir to Fate, I probably wouldn't have seen them until they came to check up, make sure I wasn't dead and stinking up the tower.”

Kent frowned slightly, his eyes staring off into space, into the past. “I suppose I was kind of hoping for that, in a way. Too many friends dead or dying, too hard to get up in the mornings. Living is a young man's game, and now I'm signing up for more lonely years in the hope I get to relive my glory days...or go out in a blaze. I'd really rather if someone died sorting this latest mess out, it'd be me instead of any of you.”

The older hero began walking towards the kitchen, “you boys think on whether or not you really want to throw your lives away on some damn fool stunt like this. In the meantime, now that my ticker's better, I think I'll show you a little of what magic can do. Who's up for a magically-prepared lunch while I regale you with the story of how Jay, Alan, and I teamed up with the Rifle Brigade to save the world from Hitler's left nut?”

I blinked, my mind suddenly thrown for a loop.

Max looked morbidly curious, while Ray just seemed equal-parts thoughtful on what he'd just heard and absolutely disgusted by the offer he'd just gotten.


	18. Off The Rails VIII

**July 22, 2010**

**21:45:33 GMT -5**

  
Max was still chuckling as we finally retired to the large room which had been set aside for our use. Kent had, indeed, told us what would now forever be known as ' _the story_ ,' a tale which was interwoven over the course of the entire day, covering months of traveling with a band of near-mercenaries out to destroy or capture the demonically-infused Testicle of Mass Destruction.  
  
It was absurd.  
  
It was disgusting.  
  
It was interspersed with the most _horrible_ jokes and puns imaginable.  
  
Ray and I had barely survived the experience with our sanity intact, largely sticking around for one reason...  
  
...the jokes had made Max _laugh_.  
  
I could count on my fingers the number of times the kryptonian clone had even snorted in amusement before today. Apparently, though, the teen did actually have a funny bone, buried deep under missile-proof flesh and muscle as it was.  
  
Meanwhile, Ray and I had done a fair bit of reading, even as I recorded the story being told...for posterity, if nothing else. It was, however bawdy, a piece of history. Jay and Alan hadn't returned, though Kent didn't seem all that worried. After all, Alan had a lot to think on and Jay had a family to see to. Eventually, though, the day had wound down and we'd disbanded to actual beds instead of the couches which had been set aside for us last night.  
  
Showered, fed, and dressed in boxers, Ray and I were glaring at the muscled teenage kryptonian. All of our supplies were stacked against the far walls, an array of weaponry and clothing as well as numerous small odds and ends. All our lives, packed away in a few meager duffle bags. I shook my head. Now wasn't the time to think about that.  
  
“It wasn't that funny,” Ray finally broke, stating his conclusion bitterly. I suppose the novelty of our teammate laughing had finally worn off.  
  
“' _It looks like the whermarcht has gone...balls up,'_ he said,” Max chortled.  
  
Ray and I suppressed, or at least tried to suppress a twitch at the horrible pun.  
  
“Okay, look, weird creepy and _insane_ stories aside,” Ray forced out, “the old guy knows his stuff. I don't really buy into the whole moralizing thing he was trying, but he raised a lot of good points. We're nowhere near ready to take on the Light, are we?”  
  
“He seemed really worried about us,” Max stated, frowning now. “Should we really do this? I mean, Kent seemed like he and the other members of the Justice Society would take care of it once they got back up to speed.”  
  
Ray and I grimaced.  
  
“I suppose we... _could_ let them take over,” Ray stated, his face still twisted in displeasure, “but...that feels like letting them win, you know? Just...letting them get away with what they did to us. Besides, the JSA isn't for sure yet, and they're going to be busy handling the Justice League. We need to be able to go after the Light itself. I'm not saying we should let them _help_ , but this is our fight from the get-go.”  
  
“I agree. The JSA can confront their public schemes, but we'll be going after the masterminds themselves. Covert, quick, and clean.” I stated firmly.  
  
“How are we going to do it?” Max asked. “Kent said we got really lucky on Klarion, being able to take him by surprise like that. I know we don't know for sure if he was working for the Light, but what if the Light has something like him?  
  
“If they have any form of magical assistance?” I asked bluntly. “Then no, we aren't ready. If we're serious about this, we're going to need at least one specialist.”  
  
Ray sighed and leaned back on his palms. “That Roth girl you told us about...she's our best bet, isn't she?”  
  
“One of them,” I replied, rolling my eyes at his look askance. “She was in my top five picks regarding checking our minds out because she has a generally solid moral core, power to spare, and years of experience in the mystical arts despite her age. Also, a natural talent for telepathy doesn't hurt.”  
  
“Who else do you have, then?” Max asked, keen on the idea of recruiting a magic user. Kent had, evidently, left quite an impression on the teen when he'd bound him with a simple word and gesture.  
  
Score another one for my mysterious bank of knowledge; kryptonians were just as vulnerable to magic as I'd suggested.  
  
I flexed slightly and sighed. Tonight I would sleep. There was only so much work I could do without internet access and a lot of my plans were already in motion. Laying low would actually serve us well at this point.  
  
“Okay,” I began, “what you need to keep in mind about most of my suggestions or prospective teammates is that...they aren't your classic 'heroes.' We aren't doing the type of work that a lot of people would happily join up with, to put it lightly.”  
  
Max frowned, mirth slowly evaporating from his features.  
  
Ray sighed. “Okay, who are we looking at in terms of recruitment?”  
  
I picked up a laptop and opened it, my worm platform extending and connecting to the device. With secret satisfaction, I noticed Ray didn't even flinch from seeing the device anymore. An image appeared on the screen. “Our first option goes by the name 'Terra.' Real name is [Tara Markov](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Terra_%28comics%29#Tara_Markov), daughter of the current ruling monarch of [Markovia](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Markovia), though I will stress her identity is actually secret as far as I know right now.”  
  
The computer screen switched, showing a series of small Batlic nations...which I couldn't help but feel _oddly_ about, as if they bore the incorrect names or borders. I shook the feeling off. “Markovia's royal family have, for as long as records go back, had the power to control the earth. It's one of the few modern states ruled by metahumans, but maintains friendly relations with its neighbor, [Vlatava](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Vlatava_%28comics%29) and is considering joining the European Union.”  
  
“Tara...or Terra, is technically third-in-line for the throne of Markovia,” I explained to the other two teens, who were nodding along. “To put it bluntly, she's the king's illegitimate daughter who was exiled to America, put on a mask, and started doing mercenary work. She has warrants for her arrest in...seven countries, some of which include murder charges.”  
  
“You know,” Ray stated idly, “I'm really starting to doubt your judgment, at least as far as judging prospective contacts goes. Why the hell would we want to recruit her?”  
  
“Because she's a professional,” I replied stoically. “Every contract she's ever taken has been fulfilled to the letter with no unnecessary violence or destruction. I don't know _why_ she's a mercenary rather than raising a stink about her situation. She could be sitting on a cushy throne and being the pretty princess exile even here in America, but she's _good_ at what she does. She's got some experience under her belt, she doesn't flinch from killing, and she'll keep to her contract.”  
  
Ray sighed. “Are _all_ of our options like this?”  
  
“We aren't exactly forming up your average hero team,” Max stated, crossing his arms thoughtfully. “I think Terra might be a good idea. She kind of reminds me of some of the people in Kent's stories.”  
  
Ray grimaced. “Not everyone can be a deviant with a heart of gold, you know? What if she's a psycho-bitch?”  
  
“Then we don't hire her,” I replied. “We'll need to write up a contract for mercenary work, stipulate secrecy and a trial period at the very least and either she bites or she doesn't.”  
  
“...and what makes you so sure she'll keep her word?” Ray asked, visibly thinking over the option.  
  
“Her word is her bond,” I stated. “She breaks her word without us screwing her over and her name is shit. No one would hire her. Or, at least, no one worth working for.”  
  
Ray tapped his fingers along the frame of the bed. “All right, so we've got the half-demon who-” I shot him a look, “- _escort_ and the royal-turned-mercenary.” He snorted, smirking now. “You know what? Your suggestions can't get any worse, hit me again! This team will be...just _awesome_ , I'm excited to be a part of it.”


	19. Quoth the Raven I

******July 24, 2010**

  
**10:29:48 GMT -5**   


“I suppose I can't change your minds, can I?” Kent asked tiredly, sighing deeply.  
  
“Mr. Nelson, with all due respect,” I began slowly.  
  
“I hate when people say that,” the old man sighed, running a hand through his hair. “What they always really mean is, ' _butt out of my business, you old codger_.'”  
  
I grimaced and felt a thrill of terror that I pointedly ignored. Instead, I went with my first impulse and said exactly what I was feeling. Kent wanted honesty? Fine. “How about, ' _we're going to do as we wish. Either get out of our way or throw the first punch_.'”  
  
Max stiffened, though Ray merely looked subtly more alert.  
  
Kent barked a laugh, loud and honest. “Now that's more like it. Well, I suppose if I'm not willing to use violence, I don't deserve to oppose that kind of determination.”  
  
Ray raised an eyebrow while Max relaxed noticeably.  
  
“Instead, I guess I'll have to lend what help I can,” Kent smiled and reached into a pocket, pulling out three golden rings with ankhs stamped on them. “These should protect you from scrying. I doubt any of Klarion's possible associates would be aware of his disappearance yet, but in the event of someone getting curious...”  
  
Each of us took a ring and, though I scanned it as intensively as I could, there didn't seem to be anything special about the jewelry.  
  
Nevertheless, we all put them on.  
  
“From what you described, I'll be able to send you straight to your truck. You'll be on your own from there on out,” Kent reminded us.  
  
“Not completely,” Jay chimed in, passing us slips of paper, “that's my house phone and cellular as well as Alan's house and cell. You get in a serious jam, call us. I'd give you Kent's number too, but he's a dinosaur and his claws destroy modern electronics.” Jay grinned as Kent rolled his eyes, a surprisingly youthful reaction from the normally wise-looking old man. “Or at least, that's my theory on why he doesn't have a phone.”  
  
“Blasted things are worse than noisemaker fireworks,” Kent muttered sourly.  
  
“And remember where and when you're supposed to meet up with us,” Alan stated, stepping into the room with a serious look on his face. Even days after the revelation of what was happening to his body, he still wasn't completely over it, but he was noticeably better.  
  
As if to prove my point, he cracked a small smile, “try not to drown in the dust, though, alright? I don't think we'll have time to do any intensive cleaning with all the crotchety old people we'll be picking up.”  
  
Ray snorted. “Right, I can't say I'm jealous. At least the people we're talking about recruiting will be hot chicks.”  
  
“Ah, Mr. Nelson?” I asked, slightly unsure of myself...or at least, how my inquiry would be received. “...about that thing we discussed yesterday?”  
  
Jay and Alan looked at their friend curiously, as did Max and Ray for that matter, but Kent merely dropped his eyes in thought for a minute. “I'll have to think on it more, kid. That kind of decision...shouldn't be made lightly.”  
  
“I understand,” I replied respectfully. “I think that's it then.”  
  
“Well, then,” Kent sighed, “don't die on me, boys. It'd be a damn shame.”  
  
Then the light flash, and we were elsewhere.  
  
**July 24, 2010**

**19:29:48 GMT -6**

  
“We made good time,” I said, the small digital display in the corner of my digital HUD reassuring me that we were, indeed, on time.  
  
“God I hate this weather,” Ray sighed as he collapsed on the hotel bed. “Just when you think it can't get any more humid it starts raining.”  
  
“That's Louisiana for you,” I shrugged, the words leaving my mouth so naturally they left me blinking.  
  
Ray either didn't notice or wasn't inclined to comment.  
  
“The food here smells good,” Max noted, looking through the menus and restaurant brochures we'd been left with. “What's...jambalaya?”  
  
“Depends on if y'all want the real thing,” I answered absently. “Mostly it's rice, peppers, sausage, beans, and some other stuff. Pretty good, but the best kind is gonna' be spicy. Sometimes there's shrimp in it, but a general rule of thumb is that if there's more seafood than farm animal in it, it's gumbo. Plus, jambalaya usually has the rice cooked in with the food. Gumbo is served on white rice.”  
  
“I thought gumbo was a soup,” Ray asked, giving me an odd look.  
  
“Sometimes is,” I shrugged. “Like I said, depends on what kind you have and who all's making it.”  
  
“Hmm,” Max rumbled thoughtfully, giving the list of dishes all the consideration of a great thinker pondering the infinite.  
  
“We might be here a few days, so y'all will get to try plenty of them if ya' want,” I stated, finishing up my preparations and turning to the mirror.  
  
I'd gone with 'business casual' for the occasion, though I'd had to pick up some slacks and shirts given that everything I owned...that I could remember, at least, boiled down to 'jeans and a t-shirt' or variation thereof.  
  
Despite the heat, I'd picked out a pair of black slacks and a long-sleeved white silk shirt with a black dress-jacket thrown over it. I squinted and tilted my head slightly. My ears were reverted to their regular shape for the night, and I'd changed a few of the key lines of my face, but overall I still looked like 'myself.'  
  
It was a concession to honesty as much as it was for my own comfort. I had to constantly remind myself of the fact that I was wearing another person's face when I disguised myself. This was close enough to my real visage that it would allow me to be comfortable in my own skin while also, hopefully, not distancing our potential recruit should she accept our offer.  
  
“You're beautiful already,” Ray deadpanned. “It's a fucking job interview, not prom night.”  
  
“Uhh...just, umm, make sure she sucks your dick, not your mind?” Max asked awkwardly.  
  
I _blinked_.  
  
Ray _stared_.  
  
Max fidgeted nervously. “Sorry...I just thought, um...I wanted to try a 'dirty joke' like the ones Kent told and um...you said she was a telepath, right? I mean-”  
  
I shuddered, shook, and finally burst out laughing, nearly collapsing as the fit overcame me.  
  
Max grinned bashfully, but proudly as I couldn't help but laugh myself silly.  
  
Ray merely shook his head sadly, dropping it to rest in his hands. “I _will_ kill one of you if I need to.”  
  
“Ah...” Max muttered thoughtfully, rubbing at his chin. “Would, 'that's what she said,' work in this situation? Kent said that one was funny.”  
  
Even as Ray groaned painfully, I cracked up again, falling to the floor in hysterics.  
  
My laughter kept a warm smile on my face even after it subsided and I made my way down to the restaurant on the first floor of the hotel. It was a swanky place, obviously fit for the upper-crust of casual diners. A quick word had me a reserved private booth with the help of a few Benjamins slipped into the head waiter's hand. That taken care of, I turned to await my 'date' for the evening.  
  
Barely five minutes later, I logged out of the virtual game I was playing mentally and took immense pleasure as I watched a sumptuously-dressed teen walk through the hotel doors. She wore a 'little black dress' with a shawl that glittered like the stars in the night sky, her dark hair bobbed artfully against skin that hinted at an exotic, unnameable, ethnicity. Amethyst eyes capped off the picture of subdued and graceful beauty, understated yet appealing all the same.  
  
“Rachel Roth?” I extended my hand with a smile, bringing her offered digits to brush with my lips. “It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” 


	20. Quoth the Raven II

**July 24, 2010**

**20:00:13 GMT -6**

  
“You are quite the charmer.” She commented idly, perusing the menu.  
  
“I like to think I'm just polite,” I replied with a smile.  
  
“I've met many 'polite' men over the last year,” Rachel replied dryly. “Few of them actually mean it when they say they're pleased to meet me.”  
  
“Why continue in this line of work then?” I asked, arching one eyebrow.  
  
“For much the same reasons I got into in the first place,” she riposted, a hint of a smirk playing on her lips. “For someone who otherwise seems so well-informed about me, it appears you have a rather glaring blind spot.”  
  
“I was under the impression that women enjoyed their secrets. It seemed bad form to deprive you of all of them before I even spoke to you.” My answer was delivered off-hand as I studied my own menu.  
  
“So courteous of you,” Rachel smiled, amused, then looked up to the waiter. “I'll have the...”  
  
I made my own order as well and each of us took a sip of our drinks. Hers was a rather expensive blend of tea while mine-  
  
“So sophisticated as well,” Rachel remarked as I lowered the glass of coke from my lips.  
  
“For some reason I think I should doubt that compliment's sincerity,” I grinned in reply.  
  
Rachel laughed, the sound easy and light. “You know, if you keep making me laugh, I might even forgive the fact that you're blackmailing me.”  
  
I blinked, setting down my drink. “I'm...sorry if I gave you that impression, it certainly wasn't my intent.”  
  
It was Rachel's turn to blink as she looked at me oddly. “I'm a little confused then. How precisely was I supposed to take your email, if not a threat?”  
  
I cleared my throat slightly in embarrassment. “Ah...now that you say it, I suppose lacking any context...one might be able read a threat into it. I merely meant to imply that I wished to meet with you for a job offer not entirely related to your current occupation.”  
  
Rachel leaned back, considering me as she looked me over. “Is this one of those 'job offers' I've seen on television? The kind which I can't necessarily refuse?”  
  
I sighed, palming my face. “I rather think you've got the wrong idea about me, Ms. Roth.”  
  
“So enlighten me,” Rachel ordered, her tone not quite severe, but subtly dangerous.  
  
I tapped at the table thoughtfully for a moment, considering the situation. “I wanted to meet with you tonight to discuss a long-term recruitment offer. The reason I approached you is because of your skills in magic, specifically your abilities in telepathy and healing.”  
  
Rachel frowned. “...and if I say 'no'?”  
  
“Then we finish our meal, I pay the cheque as well as your fee, and we go our separate ways. I'll leave you a number to contact me by if you ever change your mind or need help, but other than that...” I shrugged.  
  
Rachel silently reached out and took a sip of her tea, a long moment passing as she stared into the cup quietly.  
  
“You asked why I'm an escort.” She stated at last. “What all do you know about me?”  
  
“I know you're not from around here, precisely.” I stated slowly. “You were born in Azarath, I believe, a different dimension. I know...your lineage, I guess would be the best way to put it, and that you are not entirely human as a result of it.”  
  
Rachel took a shuddering breath and I _felt_ more than saw the shadows in our private booth flux strangely, waxing and waning in time with her breaths.  
  
Wirelessly, I pinged Max's cellphone, a simple message he and Ray would receive that signaled heightened watchfulness, but no physical danger...yet.  
  
I didn't know whether or not Max would be able to see the odd movements and dark shapes playing on the walls, but I didn't want to take any chances with them bursting in and potentially setting off an actual fight.  
  
“I think that's the most polite euphemism I've ever heard for being a child of Trigon,” Rachel sighed at last, setting her cup down on the table and meeting my eyes, her own bearing an intense expression.  
  
“I've read a great number of this world's books,” Rachel stated. “So many of your authors fantasize about mystical realms and magical kingdoms. Many of their creations are moving or inspiring, but I've seen very few realistic depictions regarding what immigrants from those worlds would have to go through.”  
  
Rachel sighed again, leaning back in her chair. “When I left Azarath, I imagined I would do anything to get away from the stigma of my birth. 'Rachel Roth,' as you may know, is an assumed name. The people of Azarath called me...well, it translates to 'Raven.' The Azarathian variant of the species is almost exclusively a carrion-eater. It was a reminder of who...of _what_ I was. Although there were some who showed me favor, I had to work a great deal for my skill at controlling my powers. It didn't matter that I was a prodigy in the healing arts, or that my control was that of a master three times my age. The Azarathians always considered me a portent, an omen, of corruption and death.”  
  
“I'm sorry,” I whispered, feeling the need to say _something_ , even if it was pathetically lacking.  
  
“When I got to Earth, I had hoped...” Rachel shook her head. “But despite what stories my mother told me of this world...it has changed a great deal since she last lived here. When I stepped foot on this planet, I had no identification, no schooling certificates, no job experience, and knew no one. The only advantage I had was being able to speak English as a native would.”  
  
She let that statement hang as she stared at me.  
  
“I tried to find work healing.” Rachel looked away, now. “I imagine that's where you found the police report that brought me to your attention. Apparently, one needs a medical license to practice any sort of professional treatment. Shortly after that, I came to understand that I only had a few options available to me.”  
  
I nodded. “I imagine you'd either have to turn to crime or become a superhero.”  
  
Rachel chuckled self-deprecatingly. “I'm not entirely sure how one would make a living from heroism, but that was the thrust of my realization. I didn't particularly want to pursue a life of mad criminality like those costumed fools I had seen on television, so I was struck by indecision.”  
  
Rachel picked her cup up again, taking a long drink. “When I was arguing with a state official in California, trying to get some form of identification, one of the governor's aides happened to walk in. He thought I was a few years older than I actually was and offered to take me out to dinner. The rest, as they say, is history.” A slight dusting of red appeared on her cheeks. “I have had sex with a number of men. A few kept me as a mistress. One offered to pay for an apartment here in New Orleans. After he picked up a new girl, I started renting the flat.”  
  
Her eyes met mine again. “I'm telling you this so you understand who I am. A number of my...'clients' have tried to scam me. None of them have succeeded and they never got the chance to try again. I don't particularly enjoy my work, but it pays well and I have been working to acquire my GED and formal identification for regular employment. If you are serious about this job offer, I will need assurances that you will be able to pay for any reasonable expenses I accrue as well as what I will need to practice my magic.”  
  
“Though I have training in self-defense as well as war magics, most of what I know is self-taught,” Rachel continued. “I'll also state outright that I'm not willing to move into a life any more criminal than the one I'm in currently. If you can accommodate my wishes, I'll join your team.”  
  
Her piece said, Rachel dropped into silence as our food finally arrived.  
  
I used the time to work out what I could possibly say to that ultimatum.


	21. Quoth the Raven III

**July 24, 2010**

**20:16:55 GMT -6**

  
As the servers set the food down and left, I finished organizing my thoughts. The situation wasn't _ideal_ from my point of view, but I could move forward with  
  
“I'm actually somewhat surprised you would be willing to submit yourself to this kind of occupation,” I spoke carefully. “Why wouldn't you just... _convince_ someone to see to your needs?”  
  
Rachel's face twisted into a moue of distaste and her eyes dropped for a moment. “Don't think it didn't cross my mind, but...the glamours I usually use are as far as I'm willing to go in terms of manipulating others' minds.”  
  
“You're a very moral person, Ms. Roth.” I complimented, holding up a hand when she sneered and moved to reply. “In your own position, I would have likely found a wealthy individual and forced them to believe I was some sort of long-lost relation.”  
  
Rachel sighed and began to eat, “I think that might be the first time anyone has used the word 'moral' around me without sarcasm.”  
  
I swallowed a mouthful. “What was it? Anyone worth knowing won't care and anyone who cares isn't worth knowing?”  
  
Rachel snorted, shaking her head, “you can't be foolish enough to think that's true.”  
  
I shrugged. “It would be nice if we lived in a world where such a statement rang more true.”  
  
Rachel gave a noncommittal grunt.  
  
We ate in silence for a short time.  
  
“Hypothetically speaking,” I began slowly, spooning around my food. “Hypothetically speaking, if there were individuals...let's call them...drug lords. People who had enough money, power, and standing to bribe, threaten, or... _otherwise control_ any opposition.”  
  
“I'll assume you're going somewhere with this,” Raven commented in a dull tone, but I could see the interest flickering in her eyes.  
  
“They kill people, run drugs, deal weapons...sometimes worse,” I continued. “They're too powerful for conventional law enforcement to deal with and anyone who could order the military in is either in their pocket or won't because of politics.”  
  
Raven frowned deeply, staring into her tea again as if it held all the answers to the universe.  
  
“You said you didn't want to get involved in anything criminal,” I stated slowly. “The job I'm offering would involve some level of complicity in planning the deaths of these men and women.”  
  
“How do I know you're any better than these hypothetical people?” Rachel asked quietly, gravely, her amethyst eyes narrow.  
  
“Ultimately, you don't,” I replied bluntly. “As trite as it is, you'd have to trust me to a certain extent. Just as I'm extending trust in telling you this much. You could, theoretically, attract a great deal of attention my way...attention I don't need, if you decided to contact the authorities.”  
  
“The authorities?” Rachel asked dryly, smirking at me. “Who would believe me? Even if I got someone to listen to me, and that's a rather large 'if' considering my profession, who would I tell? What would I tell them? I'm afraid I'll need more than just your word on this that you're the 'good guy.'”  
  
I frowned, “I would let you read my mind, but the secrets I have aren't only my own to tell.” I drummed at the table a moment and then reached into my jacket slowly, Rachel's eyes on my hand all the while.  
  
A few sheets of tri-folded paper left my hand to sit in the middle of our table. “If we were to come to an agreement regarding your employment, I came prepared. Those pages have been enchanted by a Lord of Order to bind whatever agreement is placed upon them magically. I think the fact that I even have something like should help substantiate my claims.”  
  
Rachel mumbled a few soft words, her eyes glowing with dark light that ate at the illumination around us as she waved her hand at the blank pages.  
  
A moment later, the effects subsided and she nodded. “I know enough about order-based magic to tell that you're being truthful. Still, the fact that you have a Lord of Order on call for your stationery makes me wonder why you think you need me.”  
  
“The person who enchanted those pages is otherwise occupied for the foreseeable future. We need someone to be on-call for our own purposes, without other obligations. This would be a full-time position,” I explained candidly. “Research, lab work, field work, enchanting...basically anything you feel comfortable doing. You'd be compensated quite handsomely, of course, and I'd be willing to pay for any educational or research-based expenses, as you'd requested. In addition, though, you'd need to move into a more... _secure_ complex.”  
  
“If the people you're talking about are really that dangerous, I should hope so,” Rachel scowled, then shook her head. “But supposing you _are_ telling the truth, I still don't understand why you've come to _me_. Even discounting the fact that I'm an escort, there's also the fact that I'm...that I'm half-demon,” she finished haltingly.  
  
“We _are_ somewhat desperate for a magic user,” I admitted. “More than that, though, you're young and have no real tied to existing groups or organizations. Therefore, you're also an unknown in regards to metahumans. No one knows what you're capable of or that you even exist. Secrecy more than makes up for any moral... _quibbles_ someone might raise about your background.”  
  
Rachel blinked, staring at me for a few long moments as I fought the urge to fidget.  
  
“Still, there _has_ to be someone more qualified to handle this type of...of,” Rachel made a vague motion in the air with her hand, evidently at a loss for words. She shook her head. “Why not go to the Justice League? They seem to be willing to solve problems like this.”  
  
I occupied myself with taking a long sip of my drink and carefully placing the glass back down, my fingers drawing lines through the condensation as I ran them over the cool surface.  
  
“Earlier,” I began quietly, gravely. “Earlier, I mentioned that these people...that they have already either bribed, threatened, or... _coerced_ anyone else who would matter.”  
  
There was a long, deathly silence as that sank in, the merry sounds of dining outside the walls of our private booth at odds with the chill which had gripped our surroundings.  
  
Rachel eased herself back into her chair, one hand coming to rest on her face, covering her eyes tiredly. “You...you're serious about this, aren't you?”  
  
“Quite.” I replied shortly. It wasn't the first time the gravity of the situation had sunk in. I was forming a team to dethrone the nearest thing to gods this world still believed in and kill a shadowy conspiracy no one else seemed to even be aware of. No pressure.  
  
I shook myself from my musings and continued with my pitch. “Beyond what I've told you, though, I'm afraid that there isn't much more I can say before we hammer out a contract.”  
  
Rachel kept her hand over her eyes as she spoke, as if fighting to get the words out. “Broadly speaking...what would my duties be?”  
  
“Principally,” I began, “you would be responsible for creating and maintaining some form of magical defenses for both our headquarters as well as the personal protection of any field operatives. Something which would either nullify spells or otherwise shield individuals from their effects. In terms of protection for the base itself, we would want something which obscured its existence from...I believe 'scrying' is the term? If possible, we would also want some form of protection against magical teleportation and other intrusive effects as well.”  
  
Rachel began nodding, slowly, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You mentioned research?”  
  
“Any magical items, weapons, or other objects we acquire in the course of our work would be open for study and, if possible, duplication to use in fieldwork. If not possible, we would like to see counters to any such effects,” I explained readily.  
  
“How long would I be signing up for?” The half-demon sorceress asked further.  
  
“Six months, initially,” I stated. “With option for renegotiation and renewal, if we are both satisfied with the results of the initial contract.”  
  
“...what kind of 'handsome compensation,' specifically, would you be supplying?” Rachel finally asked, dropping her hand and raising her eyes to meet mine.  
  
Despite the fact that money wasn't an object, despite the fact that she obviously had more need of it than I did, despite the fact that her burgeoning interest almost certainly meant a desire to take my offer...I still felt my wallet wince at the sharp look in her eyes.


	22. Quoth the Raven IV

**July 24, 2010**

**21:01:04 GMT -6**

  
“So, let me see if we've got this straight,” I asked as I cut off a piece of cheesecake. “I'm going to be paying you an exorbitant amount of money-”  
  
“-good help _is_ so hard to find,” Rachel smiled as she bit into her own devil's food cake. “Besides, I'm sure you can find another...what did you call me? Specialist? Another specialist who will work at a competitive price.”  
  
“Point,” I nodded, conceding the issue of pay. Just because I _had_ the money to pay insane salaries didn't mean I needed to _waste_ that money by not even attempting to haggle. Plus, it set a bad precedent if I didn't try to talk her down. “Then there's the matter of dental and medical, which although I'm not particularly sure _why_ you need them-”  
  
“I would like the option, at least, of getting a second opinion on medical matters, and having regular teeth cleanings means I don't have to do the time-consuming rituals needed to reverse tooth decay,” Rachel explained.  
  
I stared at her blankly for a long moment, then shook my head.  
  
“Wouldn't your heritage...” I asked leadingly.  
  
Rachel shook her head. “Any noticeable difference in my makeup due to my lineage isn't physical...or, rather, isn't _purely_ physical. Many of my fluids and tissues have alchemical properties that are only noticeable with the proper magical senses. Any physical examination wouldn't reveal anything out of the ordinary.”  
  
“Fair enough,” I nodded, adding in text. “In return, you'll be providing on-call services including but not limited to magical research, defense planning, enchantment analysis and reconstruction, and field work.”  
  
“Not including 'extra-judicial killings'” Rachel stated stonily. “Although I don't doubt that you _believe_ these people need to be...eliminated, and your association with a Lord of Order lends credence to your claims, but I won't be taking part in executions or assassinations. I'll help you protect the world, but that is the extent of my willingness to aid your endeavors, no matter their apparent nobility. If at all possible, I would rather not be 'in the field' at all on missions you expect to kill someone, but I acknowledge the unexpected nature of the work I am agreeing to.”  
  
“And I thank you for understanding,” I replied. “Now, discussing your benefits package...in addition to medical, dental, and an expense account, I'm apparently obligated to buy you a vehicle.”  
  
“On the basis that any _other_ vehicle I could purchase would not meet the security requirements necessitated by such a group as your own,” Rachel pointed out. “I would, of course, be obligated to ward or otherwise extend magical protections to any vehicle in use by your... _our_ group, within reason, of course.”  
  
_Damn her, she had a point_ , I sighed internally. “You know, while I possess significant funding, deploying so much of it so frequently puts our secrecy at risk, which is a much more valuable asset than armored cars.”  
  
Rachel raised an eyebrow. “I'm not sure I'm completely willing to agree to work for an organization which can't, or at least isn't willing to, see to my security needs.”  
  
“While I don't begrudge you the expenses,” I replied stoically, “I will point out that I am already ensuring you have the top-grade body armor, requisite weapons and weapons training, as well as an assortment of mundane tools with which to better and more safely complete your work. Putting aside, of course, the advanced computers and other modern amenities I will be acquiring for you as part of a living expenses package.”  
  
“Fair enough,” Rachel granted, apparently unwilling to press the issue. “If you'll let me see the contract?”  
  
I handed the pages over, full of my font-perfect script. It really was amazing what one could do between a cyberbrain and HUD which could project letters to trace. My days of requiring lined paper, should I ever remember them, were over.  
  
Rachel's amethyst eyes read over the document I'd penned, no doubt carefully scanning each line and detail for a non-existent hidden clause or line.  
  
Finally satisfied, she nodded. “Pen, please?”  
  
Handing over the writing instrument, we made quick work of signing her employment contract.  
  
Looking over the document for myself, making sure our signatures were dry, I sighed in relief. “Well, at least _that's_ over.”  
  
Rachel cocked an eyebrow, her lips twitching. “Not one for the negotiating table?”  
  
I folded the contract and put it away. “Not really. I'm actually much...well, 'informal' would be the best way to put it.”  
  
Rachel leaned back, picking up the large glass of milk she'd been drinking from since our dessert had arrived. She looked similarly relieved. “I'm not much for them either, honestly. If there's one thing which I've appreciated in my...former occupation, it was that there was seldom much need for overmuch formality.”  
  
So said, she gave me a somewhat saucy grin and took a deep pull from the glass.  
  
I blinked as she set the milk down and started laughing as she smiled at me, a thin coating of milk along her upper lip. I raised my own glass, tilting it back to give myself a milk mustache as well.  
  
Rachel took one look and lost herself to a set of giggles.  
  
**July 24, 2010**

**21:25:38 GMT -6**

  
“If you don't mind me saying, you don't strike me as the type to partake in...silliness,” I commented as we walked up to our room.  
  
Rachel's smile faded somewhat, “I'm...not. Or, at least, I didn't used to be. I suppose that as another good thing about being an escort. I...had to learn how to talk to people, how to interact with them. It was...hard, at first, but I like to think I understand people a lot more these days.”  
  
“I...didn't mean to imply anything,” I stated, her discomfort obvious. “I'm sorry if that came out wrong.”  
  
“It's fine,” Rachel shook her head. “...would you mind if I took off my glamour? There was the chance I might see one of my clients, but now that we're out of the restaurant...”  
  
“...as long as I can take off my disguise as well,” I smiled, my expression broadening as her eyebrows rose in surprise. “While I might not be capable of magic, my technological talents are still...impressive.”  
  
Rachel nodded to herself, then her image seemed to...shimmer for a moment, fading as it was replaced by...herself. She was, for all intents and purposes, still Rachel Roth, but she looked subtly younger, her face softer and less...less...  
  
Something.  
  
Perhaps...experienced?  
  
Regardless, I triggered my own transformation, Rachel's expression turning curious as she watched parts of my visage shift with a sudden fluidity, changing into a subtly inhuman sharpness.  
  
“Why don't we start over again?” I asked with a more honest smile. “My name is Drake.”  
  
“Charmed,” she replied dryly, “you can call me Raven. It's...not the best of names, but it's more mine than 'Rachel' ever has been.”  
  
I tilted my head in acknowledgment. “Well then, I think I should introduce your new coworkers.”


	23. Quoth the Raven V

**July 24, 2010**

**22:33:51 GMT -6**

  
Raven rubbed her eyes, sipping at another cup of the hotel's expensive blends of tea.  
  
I was slouched in a comfortable chair next to the television, placed so that my worm platform wouldn't trip anyone, stretched as it was between my neck and the flat screen's ports. My jacket had been removed and hung up while Rac- _Raven_ had borrowed a bathroom for a few moments, coming out dressed in a much more casual set of clothing that couldn't have possibly fit in her tiny handbag.  
  
Without magic, at least.  
  
Ray, similarly, had tossed off the restricting outfit he'd worn for his and Max's 'dinner' downstairs. The two had posed as young entrepreneurs discussing a business deal over a late dinner while they'd covertly kept tabs on the booth where I'd been meeting with Raven. It had been good practice, and insurance, if nothing else.  
  
The last of our motley crew, Max, was still dressed in his suit, still wearing his jacket even, but looked at home and relaxed in the outfit.  
  
“Are you sure we should have told her everything?” Ray asked in an undertone.  
  
I frowned, not sure if Raven could still hear our conversation or was even interested in it all that much after hearing our story. She had the look of someone in deep contemplation, thinking furiously, but otherwise dead to the world.  
  
“Secrecy clause,” I replied shortly, tapping at the contract. “She can leave, forfeiting payments and benefits, but she can't start posting anything to the internet or go to the press.”  
  
Ray shook his head, his gaze still intent. “Yeah, I know, but did we need to tell her _everything_ in one go? Couldn't we have just waited until later?”  
  
Despite Ray's concerns we hadn't told Raven _everything_ , though not for lack of trying on her part. The young woman had asked a great deal of questions regarding everything, ferreting out information we would have otherwise glossed over...not out of any desire to conceal information, but mostly just out of a lack of want to tell the story _again_.  
  
With the rate at which we were going, I was probably going to make a slideshow or something. Repeating everything was getting...tedious...  
  
At any rate, though, while Raven knew we'd _met_ with Dr. Fate and that he was the Lord of Order who'd given us the blank contract paper, she _didn't_ know anything about our potential arrangement regarding his age, nor that of his friends.  
  
Simply put, those weren't our secrets to tell.  
  
“Why?” I asked in that same undertone, my voice carrying no reproach or anger, just blunt curiosity. “The truth won't change tomorrow or next week. Either she can handle it or she can't.”  
  
Ray's face twisted into something unhappy, but whatever his rebuttal was, he swallowed it without further comment.  
  
“This is insane,” Raven finally muttered, leaning back and staring up at the ceiling.  
  
“No, really?” Ray asked, dropping into a chair and kicking his feet up onto the table.  
  
“Ray,” I cautioned, not liking at all the tone of his voice.  
  
“Drake,” he returned in a happily obviously, sarcastic tone. “You said it yourself. Either she can handle it or she can't. Now's a good time to find out before we really get started.”  
  
I sighed as Raven seemed to bristle quietly, something in my unmodified lizard-brain keying on _danger_ as I saw the woman become agitated.  
  
“...and what's _that_ supposed to mean?” Raven asked, her gaze sharp.  
  
I watched the interaction quietly, not deigning to intervene for a number of reasons. First, this would be a defining conversation between Ray and Raven, setting the tone for their working relationship. I didn't necessarily want Ray to drive Raven away, but I also didn't want to give the half-demon girl the illusion that this would be a perfect, happy family from right off the bat.  
  
Ray was, at the best of times, prickly.  
  
Another, more interesting aspect of the conversation, to me at least...was the fact that Raven's body language had changed with the dropping of her glamour. In addition to seeming younger and less experienced, she was also...more distant? She wasn't as emotive or expressive, and I'd had to work harder to get a reaction from her. It was a little jarring, something like looking at a creature that was _almost_ human, like Klarion had been, but wasn't _quite_ correct in all the details.  
  
The young woman before me _wasn't_ Rachel Roth, but at the same time, she wasn't _not._  
  
_...was that what Ray and Max saw when I changed my face?_  
  
“All I'm saying is that we don't need someone _thinking_ they can handle what we're up to and then getting cold feet,” Ray stated plainly.  
  
“What is it, exactly, that you're doing?' Raven asked in reply, the edge to her voice clearly audible even through the drone of her monotone response. “Because it looks like it wouldn't be much of anything without _my_ help.”  
  
Ray's eyes widened and his teeth showed as he spoke, “you think you're worth it? From what Drake said your time is awfully _expensive_.”  
  
I was torn between wincing and applauding the teen for his subtly. Honestly, I would have expected-  
  
Raven snorted. “If you're trying to imply that I'm a _whore_ , you should just say it. I've had _much_ worse hurled at me.”  
  
Ray smirked. “Does that mean we get access to your _other_ services.”  
  
I sighed silently and met Max's eyes, then rolled my own.  
  
“I suppose if you're desperate enough,” Raven sneered slightly. “It's a sad day when a _young_ man like you can't get a girl without paying them, though.”  
  
His lips quirked, then he pointedly looked between the two.  
  
A glint of anger lit up Ray's eyes. “You're just going to talk back to a prospective client like that?”  
  
I cocked my head, not quite understanding-  
  
Raven opened her mouth, a flicker of her shadow far more telling of her emotional turmoil than her stoic expression.  
  
“Just fuck and get it over with already,” Max interjected, crossing his arms with what I could tell was a calculated look of displeasure on his face. It looked just a bit too forced to be natural.  
  
Raven and Ray whirled on the glaring clone, anger in their postures and faces.  
  
“Not right now Max!” Ray spat at the same time Raven cried, “Stay out of this!”  
  
My lips whitened as it clenched my jaw, determined not to laugh. Then and there, I resolved to buy Max something nice.  
  
“Max has a point,” I cut in diplomatically, swallowing my laughter. “Ray, we're going to be depending on Raven's expertise both in out of the field. Is that going to be a problem?”  
  
Ray scowled, his eyes cutting away to the amethyst-eyed woman, then he sighed. “If she's as good as she says she is, then I don't have a problem.”  
  
I nodded, taking it as the largest concession I was going to get. “Raven,” I stated, turning towards the other arguing teen. “Ray's going to be protecting you as well as Max and myself if we get into a fight. Can you work with him?”  
  
Raven frowned, but nodded. “If he can keep his opinions to himself.”  
  
I sighed. “Fine. I'll remind you that, theoretically, we're trying to _save the world_ from a secret cabal of supervillains. I would appreciate it if we didn't start infighting before we even really get started.”  
  
Raven shook her head. “In all honesty, one of the main reasons I agreed to join your group was to try to talk you out of...” She grimaced. “...of killing people. I was hoping that you had...misjudged the situation and that...well.”  
  
“That we were going to go off on some insane crusade,” I stated, not finding it within myself to be really surprised. “That we were wrong, or confused, or just crazy and that you could either set us straight or find out enough to either turn us in or get us to make a stupid mistake so we'd get caught.”  
  
Raven grimaced, looking away, even as Ray's face clouded with anger.  
  
“What gave me away?” The sorceress asked bleakly.  
  
“Mainly the way you wanted certain parts of our agreement phrased,” I replied, pulling out the document in question, even though I had the entire thing memorized. “Here we are, _'...be kept secret as long as I am acting in the best interest of both my teammates the public at large.'_ It was actually pretty clever...if we _were_ actually crazy.”  
  
“What the hell, Drake! You can't just let her get away with-” Ray began, gesturing wildly. While Max didn't become verbal, the blatant anger was easy to see on his face.  
  
I raised my hand, palm outward in a silent gesture for quiet. Ray grit his teeth, but subsided.  
  
“Ray, Max...there isn't any easy way to say this,” I stated bluntly, “but...what we're doing _is_ crazy. We're going to hunt down and _kill people_ based on the idea that a shadowy conspiracy is taking over the greatest heroes of the world for some unknown means. We have just enough proof that we could be a legitimate threat to these people, but not enough that anyone important...at least, that we don't suspect of being replaced or mind-controlled, will actually listen to us. I'm not saying that what we're doing isn't _necessary_ or _right_ , but...”  
  
Ray sighed and Max leaned back, studying the floor contemplatively.  
  
The kryptonian nodded. “No one would believe us, would they?”  
  
“Probably only enough people to cause a mass panic,” Ray muttered, shaking his head before looking to Raven. “Fine. She gets a pass. Just...don't do it again.”  
  
I nodded once. “I think now that Raven's seen that we're all... _mostly_ sane and reasonable individuals, I believe she'll know that she can come to us with any concerns she has.”  
  
“I will,” Raven exhaled deeply, obviously relaxing. “I'm relieved, though. The consequences for breaking the agreement we came to...it wouldn't have been good for me. There's still the fact that I've evidently involved myself in a secret counter-conspiracy to save the world from the possibly-mind controlled Justice League, but...I suppose I'm at least not alone in that.”  
  
Ray blinked, looking the woman over again, as if just seeing her. Perhaps the idea that she'd been willing to take the consequences of breaking a magical oath surprised him?  
  
“So,” Raven asked, looking around at us, “I'll need about a week to tidy-up my affairs, but...what's the plan?”


	24. Quoth the Raven VI

**July 24, 2010**

**23:13:11 GMT -6**

  
I reclined slightly, my worm platform shifting to allow me to do so of its own accord.  
  
Raven's head cocked as she stared at the transhuman appendage.  
  
“Quite honestly, there are a lot of things that need to happen before we start taking any real action against the Light,” I stated, still thinking furiously on the subject.  
  
“We have funding,” I held out a hand, flipping one finger out. “We have a magic specialist,” another finger extended as I counted. “I think it's time to think about a base of operations.”  
  
Ray grimaced, “yeah, that's going to be...difficult. I'm not sure where we're going to get the kind of place we'd need. I mean, it's not like we can really work out of your average suburban house, right?”  
  
“A house...” Max murmured, and I frowned in sympathy with the teen for a moment.  
  
Yeah, we really needed someone to lay our heads.  
  
“I've been putting some thought into this,” I replied, bringing up a series of images on the television. Interested eyes turned to the new display as they slowly took in [what I was suggesting](http://www.hardenedstructures.com/bunkers-for-Sale.php).  
  
“Huh,” Ray stated eloquently, tilting his head in thought.  
  
“I...wasn't aware [the military sold those](http://www.missilebases.com/),” Raven stated absently, looking similarly stumped.  
  
“That's what she said,” Max replied off-handedly, his eyes widened as soon as the words left his lips, worry lacing his expression.  
  
Ray and I snorted reflexively as Raven blinked in surprise before rolling her eyes.  
  
“Men,” she grumbled, though there was a bit of a twitch to her lips as she said it.  
  
“Anyway,” I spoke pointedly, “the military doesn't sell bases like these. They started being decommissioned in the eighties and nineties after the nuclear reduction treaties began to take effect, but they generally only had two markets.”  
  
“Millionaires...” Ray guessed, frowning.  
  
“Super-villains,” Max nodded firmly.  
  
“Give the boy a prize,” I confirmed. “After a...bit of a scandal around the turn-of-the-millennia that accused the military of subsidizing super-villains as some sort of plot to get more funding-”  
  
“-that's insane,” Raven interjected shaking her head. “I can't imagine any government being foolish enough to harbor that kind of threat just to increase funding to their military.”  
  
“You'd be surprised what governments try to get away with,” I stated neutrally. “Look up MK-ULTRA when you get the chance. Long story short, though, a few generals retired over the accusations, but no one ever went to trial and its mostly considered a conspiracy-theory at this point. Regardless, though, while the military doesn't sell decommissioned bases to private owners _anymore_ , there are still a number on the market.”  
  
“They'd be just about perfect,” Ray stated, his eyes flickering over the options. “Designed to resist assault, hardened against bombardment...we'd probably have to overhaul the electrical, though and...if they haven't been occupied since they were abandoned...”  
  
“Some of them need some serious work,” I confirmed. “Still, considering what we need the space for, I think we'd end up refurbishing no matter what. It might be better just to go with a blank slate, so to speak.”  
  
“How long have you been thinking about this?” Raven asked, running her eyes over the images as well with a frown.  
  
I frowned, then absently search my browser history. “Just a few days after we escaped Cadmus, honestly. After I stole that couple of billion dollars from those drug lords and dictators I started looking into what kind of homes might be on the market for a group like ours. This was the most...feasible option, but I'm also partial to the idea of buying a small island if you think you're up to warding the entire thing.”  
  
Ray's face twisted. “Don't go the island route. Trust me. Ollie tried it way back. Huge buyer's remorse.”  
  
Raven looked between us oddly, finally settling on giving an unreadable look to Max, who just shrugged in reply.  
  
“...okay,” Raven shook herself. “Do you mind if I bring up a concern?”  
  
Max, Ray, and I looked around at each other, exchanging shrugs.  
  
“Alright then,” Raven sighed. “I just noticed that you've effectively made two large decisions already without much input from your friends.”  
  
I blinked, had I?  
  
Seeing my surprise, Raven continued. “When you were explaining your history, you told me that all of you were equally involved in this...enterprise.” Her face settled into a distasteful moue before clearing. “It's just that...between the fact that you effectively dismissed me plotting to betray you if I felt I had good enough reasons, and then the almost unilateral nature of your choice of base...I'm getting mixed messages.”  
  
I frowned, then grimaced, finally looking towards Ray and Max, who somewhat refused to meet my eyes.  
  
“...shit,” I cursed quietly, palming my face. “I...shit, do you guys really feel that way? That I'm just...deciding things for you without asking?”  
  
“Well...” Ray sighed, then shrugged, “kinda?”  
  
“You're...in charge, aren't you?” Max asked, appearing slightly confused, if a bit uneasy at making the assertion.  
  
“I...kind of thought we were doing this together,” I said aloud, though my thoughts ran differently. I had _wanted_ Ray and Max to listen to my opinions, hadn't I? ...but had I gone too far? Had I just closed them out, made choices without their input, like Raven said?  
  
“Oh, we are,” Ray replied, perking up. “I'm in this thing until the end, no matter what, but...” He ran a hand through his hair nervously. “I mean, _you_ got us out of Cadmus, _you_ made sure we haven't gotten caught yet...”  
  
“You made sure we had money for food and transportation,” Max nodded, aping my 'counting gesture' as he extended his fingers. “You're the one who knew _who_ we should go to for help, and even _how_ to find him. I just kind of thought...”  
  
“All things considered,” Raven broke in, “I think you've done an excellent job given what all of you have told me, but I just wanted to be clear on who's in charge.”  
  
“Drake,” Max nodded instantly.  
  
Ray shrugged. “Not like I could do a better job.”  
  
My jaw worked soundlessly for a moment. “Whoa, whoa! Ray, you have _way_ more experience than me-”  
  
Ray held up a hand and interrupted me. “Yeah, no. I had _maybe_ a year studying under Green Arrow. That was mostly...well, archer stuff. Training, patrol work, getting to know the tech and cover stories... I'll be the first to toot my own horn-”  
  
Max opened his mouth.  
  
“-not now Max,” Ray deflected seamlessly, the kryptonian clone huffing slightly in disappointment, “but there's _no way_ I could do the things you're doing. Hell, as long as you weren't trying to get me killed, I'd let you order me around _just_ for fixing my arm.”  
  
Max absently touched the side of his head and, though he didn't say anything, I knew he echoed the sentiment.  
  
“Besides,” Ray went on, “if I was in charge, I'd have pissed off Raven like...five seconds after meeting her, if I even would have tried to contact her.”  
  
“Three seconds, maximum,” Raven cut in dryly, a smirk on her face.  
  
Ray took a deep breath and obviously bit back whatever he was going to say in response. “So, yeah, rest my case. You haven't gotten us in trouble yet and you've been thinking about how to keep us _out of trouble_ that I hadn't even considered, so you're team lead in my book.”  
  
I clicked my tongue thoughtfully, wondering what to say, but Max stopped me by speaking up.  
  
“We...could help more, though,” Max stated hesitantly. “Ray didn't say anything, but he was really irritated when you kept us from going down there and fighting Klarion. We could have stopped you from getting hurt.”  
  
Ray grimaced and looked away.  
  
I shook my head in negation. “You two weren't wearing any type of disguise and we had no idea, _still_ have no idea, of what Klarion's affiliation is. The Light has only seen me with my suit on, they wouldn't have been able to connect me to the person they'd captured in Cadmus. Plus, it was fairly obvious Klarion was a magic-user. The fewer of us who come into direct contact with such a creature while we don't have magical protection, the better. Additionally, you were far more valuable as fire support while I distracted him.”  
  
Ray smirked, even as Max looked displeased by the reasoning, though accepting of it.  
  
“Just proved our point,” Ray nodded, an easy grin on his face. “I would'a had us run in, guns blazing.”  
  
“...you use arrows, though,” Max frowned, cocking his head, “and I don't have any guns.”  
  
Ray smacked himself in the face. “Not literally, Max. It's a...a...”  
  
“Idiom,” Raven supplied.  
  
Ray snapped his fingers, “that.” He clapped the larger teen on the shoulder, “we'll have another movie night.”  
  
I nodded, making a note to remind myself. Movies had been one way we'd used to get Max more culturally-adjusted to modern society. They depicted a nice cross-section of social interaction as well as the typical euphemism used by average people. They had, at the very least, helped to loosen up his stilted dialogue.  
  
...we still needed to be careful about _which_ movies we showed him, though.  
  
_Never again, Sean Connery, never again._  
  
“I'm _still_ not sure I'm fit to lead _anyone_ ,” I stated, drawing us back on track.  
  
“From what I've read of history, that's generally a good attribute to have in a leader,” Raven stated. “The hesitance to assume power over others makes you less prone to risk lives and resources, as well be more attentive to possible mistakes.”  
  
“...and if you _don't_ do it, we might as well call this a wash,” Ray added. “I mean, yeah, it irritates us a little that you make decisions without asking us, but it's not like you _completely_ shut us out. You still ask for our opinions...mostly...”  
  
I didn't miss the way his eyes cut towards Raven as he trailed off.  
  
I sighed. “Okay, fine. I'm in charge.” I held up my hands to forestall any celebration...or rioting. “I _can't_ promise that I'll always remember to clue you guys in on _every_ decision that gets made, but I'll try to bring them up more often _before_ they get made so you...so _we_ can discuss things.”  
  
I perked up, my internet connection plugging away to-  
  
I stopped myself halfway through completing an order.  
  
“That starts now,” I decided, keying up an image on the television. “This is a company that makes made-to-order smartphones and data assistants. What do you think if I order some for our group and start updating them with information about things that need doing? That way, you can stay as involved in what's happening as you want to be while I don't have to run each and every little thing by committee to get it done.”  
  
My three...subordinates looked over the designs.  
  
“They'd need to be secure,” Ray began, extending a finger to the depiction of a data port.  
  
I nodded as we continued, concern and conviction warring within me at the revelation of my new, or... _explicit_ responsibilities.


	25. Quoth the Raven VII

**July 25, 2010**

**01:04:29 GMT -6**

  
How many ways were there to say 'bad idea'?  
  
I knew a few dozen, at the very least.  
  
Tonight, it seemed I would add one more way to that list.  
  
Raven looped her hands around my neck and rose up on the balls of her feet as I leaned over her, pressing our lips together. It was slow, hesitant, on both our parts as my hands wrapped about her waist, teasing the cloth-covered flesh I found there as I massaged my way into a rhythm. For her part, Raven's deft fingers slid through my hair, her nails scraping at my scalp and creating a sensation which I could only describe as pleasantly electric.  
  
“Mmm,” the ashen-skinned woman half-purred, half-moaned. “I'd forgotten how good that could be.”  
  
“I think I'm setting a record for stupid leadership decisions,” I murmured as I pressed her against the wall.  
  
“So I'm a stupid decision?” Raven asked, her tone somewhere between flirty and playfully biting.  
  
I kissed her deeply again, my tongue probing at her lips, wordless instinct guiding me.  
  
“Let's see...” I began lightly, still tasting her. “I'm abusing my authority as your new boss, I'm emotionally compromising myself-”  
  
“You make things sound so complicated,” Raven cut me off, moving in for another kiss herself.  
  
“I'm sure there's a _simple_ reason why you kissed me as soon we stepped out into the hall,” I snarked, my right hand trailing down to grasp the outside of her thigh. Not quite on her ass, but tantalizingly close.  
  
Raven pulled herself closer, her breasts pressing against my chest. “You're attractive, rich, desirable...smart enough to talk with me as an equal.” She smirked. “I like to think I'm the same. Why _can't_ it be simple?”  
  
She absently toed the door closed. The door to my private room. The room I'd only gotten because I so seldom slept a full night. So much to do, so much work to get everything working. Shell companies to legitimize, funds to reallocate, media to browse for hints and tells regarding our foes...  
  
...it had seemed like a good idea to get a separate room so I didn't wake Max or Ray with my residual human habits of pacing, speaking ideas aloud, and occasionally using the restroom when I indulged in too much soda. Now, in hindsight, it was something of a...I hesitated to call it a 'mistake,' but...  
  
“Because you've been working as an escort,” I stated, forcing myself to speak my doubts, “and I just hired you.”  
  
Raven snorted, disdain in her eyes now as the smoldering lust subsided, “you really are an idiot, aren't you?”  
  
I bent to kiss her again, apologetic intent in the motion, but she turned her head. I settled for kiss the side of her neck, down to her pulse point.  
  
She hissed appreciatively, one hand trailing down my front as the other remained tangled in my hair. “Fuck...at least you're a talented idiot.”  
  
One of my hands began to slip its way up her blouse, my thumb kneading at taught flesh.  
  
“It had to be asked,” I whispered, shifting her collar to expose more of her shoulder to my lips. “...and it needs to be answered.”  
  
Raven's left hand cupped the front of my pants and I strangled a groan.  
  
Part of me was distantly analyzing the situation, wondering at Raven's motives. She'd demonstrated more than a bit of intelligence and cunning and more still of a willingness to leverage her position for her own betterment. Was this all a power play? Some type of game? Had she decided she could get preferential treatment by sleeping with me? Or was this some kind of subconscious impulse that had been ingrained in her? A way to thank me for 'saving' her? A way to punish me for dragging her further down a path of questionable morality?  
  
...then again, perhaps Raven was right. It _could_ be as simple as scratching an itch.  
  
“If you have to,” Raven gasped as I finally cupped a bra-covered breast, “think of it as part of my benefits package.”  
  
A deft twist of her forefinger and thumb popped the front button of my pants, and I felt as much as heard the zipper trail down.  
  
“I thought you didn't like sex-work,” I pressed verbally, then surged forward and pressed against her physically as I swept her into a deep kiss.  
  
Her hand dive into my pants as I forced her bra up, my thumb passing over her nipple enticingly even as I gasped when her silken skin came in contact with my member.  
  
“Just because you don't _like_ something doesn't mean you can't _enjoy_ it,” Raven groaned, throwing her head back. “Now are you going to fuck me or keep trying to talk me out of it?!”  
  
My resistance held for another long moment.  
  
This was _not_ a good idea in almost every sense. There _were_ clauses in our contract about using harmful magic on us without our consent, and Raven had proven more than moral in her previous decisions, so I could rule out something like that. Still, there was the lingering thought that this might be some kind of social attack...or unpleasant lingering habit from her now-past days as an escort. Then again...  
  
...then again, what would _refusing_ her do? Scar our working relationship? Most likely. Raven had to know, at least _consciously_ that she didn't need to sleep with. She had even phrased it like _I_ was the one providing a service to _her_.  
  
All of my thoughts were about Raven, though, and that struck me as wrong in a sudden moment of clarity. Raven had proven herself intelligent, insightful, and mature. She could make her own decisions, and she'd obviously already made it. What about me? What did _I_ want?  
  
Than Raven's grip tightened around my hardened member, and I stopped caring.  
  
The next few moments were a whirlwind of activity, hands tearing at clothing, mouths sucking and kissing at flesh, and hands gripping heated flesh.  
  
Raven squawked as I picked her up, dropping her on the bed as I climbed onto her. Her fingers intertwined themselves in my hair again, as I suckled at her breasts feverishly. My hands roamed her body, taking in the lithe expanses of gray skin and understated muscle. I left her erect nipples behind me as I trailed lower, kissing down her quivering stomach and onto her mons.  
  
A more polite, gentlemanly, person might have looked up for permission, but I dove in without needing her consent. My mouth sealed to one thigh, teeth grazing the sensitive flesh of the inner muscle as I heard delighted and aroused groans emerge from above me. Finally, seeing her outer lips suitably flushed with arousal, I moved in to the center of her vagina, my tongue probing at the watery and somewhat unappetizing fluid which flowed so freely.  
  
Although it was my first time with a woman, that I could remember at least, it struck me that pride was the first thing to go. Here I was, face-down licking at a woman's genitals like a dog to a water-dish. The moment of introspection passed, though, as hands clapped themselves to the back of my skull as a particularly energetic cry left Raven's lips.  
  
My tongue darted low, lower than the crux of her sex, tasting the sweat and musk of her taint as my hands shifted their grip on her ass. Her crotch mashed against my face, her hands ensuring that I couldn't leave, Raven began bucking into my face.  
  
“Ugh!” She grunted, her voice rasping like an animal in heat as my thumb ghosted over her rosebud and my tongue dived as deep as I could get...and a bit further.  
  
“Dr-drake!” She gasped, and I felt her vaginal walls flex, a gush of fluid striking me unpleasantly in the face.  
  
Spitting seemed the least sexy thing to do in this situation so, somewhat begrudgingly, I swallowed what had found its way into my mouth and wiped the rest off discretely with a sheet.  
  
Raven, her sweat-slicked form gasping as she stared blankly at the ceiling, didn't seem to take umbridge with my distaste.  
  
Hungrily, greedily, I turned back to my lover, kicking free of the pants which had tangled themselves on my ankles. Leaning over her, my hands on either side of her head, I began to put my weight on one arm when those same silken hands took my engorged dick into their grasp. I paused, looking Raven dead in the eyes, my blue on her amethyst as we each panted, our chests heaving. Again, permission was neither asked for nor granted. Neither of us needed it by this point.  
  
Still, Raven nodded when her hips were properly lined up with my, the tip of my penis slotted against her opening.  
  
Despite the urge to drive myself into her quickly and satisfyingly, I sank into Raven slowly, savoring the hot, wet, tight...  
  
“Fuck,” I gasped, finishing my downward plunge and feeling my sack slap against her ass. Her arms crossed around my neck again as her legs hooked themselves around my lower back.  
  
“Move,” Raven ordered, desperate need for satisfaction in her voice as I shifted my weight and dropped my head for a searing liplock. Feeling her muscles clench around me, I sped up, hammering away at her cunt faster and stronger, driving home long, deep thrusts as quickly as I could.  
  
“Close,” I breathed, not braking pace.  
  
“I-in-side,” Raven answered brokenly, humping back into my thrusts, her hips meeting mine halfway in a furious, almost bruising intensity. “S-spell, n-no kids.”  
  
_Magic_? I grinned, kissing her again as I made sure my own pregnancy countermeasures were engaged. Finally, though, we both groaned into each others' mouths as, first, I came. Spraying my defused seed into her, I dropped a hand down to the apex of her sex, pressing against her mons as I brushed my thumb furiously over her clit. I felt her cunt seize around me, clenching and milking me as I buried myself up to the hilt. It wasn't the simultaneous orgasm of crappy romances, but it was _so satisfying_.  
  
Later, Raven lay curled up against me, her head resting on my chest as she breathed with the slow and deep ease of sleep.  
  
I thought, for a moment, of getting up to take a showed and try to do some quiet work. Feeling Raven's hot form practically tying me to the bed, though, I merely grabbed a thin sheet and resolved to take care of whatever issues arose tomorrow. Doubtless, there _would_ be issues. Regardless, though, I'd take responsibility for this mess too. It would be refreshing to have to clean up one of my _own_ messes, really, instead of shadowy conspiracies and their world domination scheme.  
  
...my life had been too simple anyway, right?


	26. Quoth the Raven VIII

**July 25, 2010**

**09:27:13 GMT -6**

  
“We gonna' actually have a real conversation about what happened last night?” I asked, not bothering to move. Curled up together with another warm body, I was unsurprisingly hesitant to disturb the tranquility of the mid-morning peace.  
  
“You really are like a dog with a bone,” Raven sighed.  
  
“I suppose that's one way to put it,” I granted. “Though really, I'm just curious. You don't strike me as the type to fall into bed with someone you just suspected of being crazy or misguided enough to plot the murder of innocent individuals.”  
  
Raven hummed thoughtfully, stretching slightly as she made herself more comfortable.  
  
“...it's difficult to explain,” Raven started, drumming her fingers against my chest. “In all honesty, I'd prefer if we just left it at having a fun, satisfying, night.” She gave me a smoldering look. “One that could happen again, if I left a good enough impression.”  
  
I looked her in the eye. “Fool me once, shame on me. Fool me twice...”  
  
Raven sighed again. “Alright...where to begin?” She lay quietly for a moment, then tapped the golden ring I hadn't taken off. “You said you got these from the Lord of Order, right? Dr. Fate?”  
  
I looked over the simple band engraved with an ankh, then nodded.  
  
“What you don't know is that I usually scry my customers before I show up to a job,” Raven confessed. “It's a simple spell to determine what kind of intentions they have, if there's any portents of danger associated with them...”  
  
I nodded slowly, “and you didn't get anything off me.”  
  
Raven frowned gravely. “Which is usually very bad, in my limited experience. Combined with the way your email seemed vaguely intended to blackmail me...”  
  
I took a deep breath, running the situation through my mind.  
  
What would _I_ have done in Raven's place?  
  
“So, how close did I come to having magical fire shot at me _again_?” I asked, mentally kicking myself. Protection against scrying was such a good idea, but in a situation like this...  
  
Raven chuckled humorlessly. “I don't usually use fire, but to borrow a phrase from this world, I 'came loaded for bear.' The jewelry I wore last night, especially the things like the anklet you couldn't especially see and the small studs in my ears...they had protective and defensive enchantments on them. Between that and what I can deploy at need, you really wouldn't have enjoyed it if last night had turned violent.”  
  
“Why meet with me at all, then?” I had to ask, looking closely at the tiny studs now that they had been mentioned. They appeared to just be simple placeholders to keep her piercings from closing, but...  
  
“The devil you know and all that,” Raven replied plainly. “It's better to know _who_ my enemy is rather than be on the run from someone you don't even know the appearance of.”  
  
I nodded slightly. I could agree with the sentiment. After all, it was one of the main reasons why I'd decided to sleep with Raven last night. Too many unanswered questions. I had wanted to know what her goals and objectives in making the offer had been, and the only real way to get answers was to play along. Still...  
  
I sighed and pinched the bridge of my nose with my free hand. “I'm going to need to rethink my _entire_ recruitment protocol, damn it.” I eyed her oddly, though. “I still don't see what that has to do with the sex, though.”  
  
Raven shrugged. “I _was_ being honest last night. You're attractive, an interesting conversationalist, and...well, _some_ of it was a test.”  
  
“Oh?” I asked. “Whether or not I slept with you at all?”  
  
“A little,” Raven nodded, “like I said, I wasn't lying last night.” She blushed, a light dusting appearing on her cheeks. “As much as I might not like to admit it usually, sex _is_ fun, so that was part of it. I wanted to see if you were the type of person who would be a stickler for the rules, or be willing to...bend them.”  
  
I hummed in reply. “...and you left the studs in while you were sleeping.” My tone was carefully free of judgement. After all, I 'slept' on a hair-trigger myself.  
  
Raven winced, ever so slightly, then looked away. “Azarath likes to pretend it has a more... _enlightened_ culture than Earth. In my experience, it just hides the darker parts better. Being...who I am, Trigon's daughter, wasn't exactly the best experience growing up in a dorm with other children.”  
  
I grimaced. “So if I'd tried anything while you were asleep?”  
  
Raven snorted and leaned up, throwing her arms up and stretching more languidly. “I'm _not_ stupid, Drake. When other girls say 'protection,' they mean condoms. When I say it, I mean a spell which will flense your skin with shadow if you try anything.”  
  
Now _I_ winced, but forged ahead even as I appreciated the view. “Good to know. So...where do we go from here?”  
  
Raven shot her violet gaze over a shoulder and raised an eyebrow. “Seeing as how you're my boss, that's really more your choice than mine.”  
  
I sighed and began following her to the shower. “I meant whether or not this effected you taking the job, but I guess that answers that.”  
  
Raven shook her head as she shot me a come-hither smile from under the running shower. “Like I said, think of it like a benefits package, for both of us. I don't see many options for 'fun' if we really are setting up in a disused military base, so it's a mutually beneficial arrangement.”  
  
I raised an eyebrow, feeling a bit playful I placed my hands on her hips. “I guess that means you were happy with my performance last night?”  
  
Her lips tilted up at the edges. “You didn't try to force me to suck you off, you went down on me without prompting, and you can fuck like a piston. I'll give you...and eight out of ten.”  
  
I raised my eyebrows, “ _eight_?”  
  
“Wanna' try for the high score?” Raven pressed, her hand wrapping around my stiff member. “I _might_ even be inclined to return the favor from last night.”  
  
**July 25, 2010**

  
**10:05:53 GMT -6**  
  
“Morning sleepyhead,” Ray mocked from his position on a beach towel, lounging by the hotel's pool. Clad in only swim trunks, sunglasses, and sunscreen, it was easily apparent how he'd chosen to use one of the 'off days' I'd scheduled. Really, I'd just marked off three days to negotiate with Raven, though it looked as if only one would be necessary.  
  
We'd decided last night that the next day, at least, would be meant for rest and relaxation before we hit the road again.  
  
“Morning,” I replied, somewhat awkwardly as we watched Max float about on an inflatable map, soaking up the sun's rays.  
  
I opened my mouth-  
  
“So, funny thing about being a hyper-aware vigilante rooming with a guy who can hear a parakeet fart from two blocks away,” Ray said with a pointed blandness to his tone. “Turns out you can hear two people in the next room going at it really easy. Especially when they aren't trying to be quiet.”  
  
I clicked my tongue against my teeth. “Ah.”  
  
“Yep.” Ray nodded, tipping his shades up with a single finger to look me in the eye. “Max and I talked it over. Personal business is personal, no skin off my nose who you sleep with.”  
  
I blinked, expecting him to make a bigger deal out of it.  
  
“That said,” Ray continued, still staring me in the eye, “I reserve the right to give you _endless_ amounts of shit over her when and if this blows up in our faces.”  
  
I mulled the matter over for a moment. “Duly noted.”  
  
“Good.” Ray nodded, dropping his shades and thumbing towards an unoccupied towel. “Saved you a spot. Extra sunny, since you and Max slurp that stuff up.”  
  
“Thanks,” I said, dropping onto the colorful towel and leaning back.  
  
Of course, it only took five minutes of relaxing for a news story about Santa Prisca to break.


	27. Into the Shadows I

**July 25, 2010**

**02:55:40 GMT -6**

  
“So...say that again, because I don't think I heard you right,” Ray stated, jabbing a finger in his ear for effect.  
  
“It's just a possibility, one which I thought I'd bring up now for you to think over. I'm not even suggesting it until things on Santa Prisca cool down.” I explained calmly.  
  
“I'm still a little hung up on the whole 'toppling a government' thing,” Ray remarked with a strained grin. “It just...does seem like what we need to be doing.”  
  
“The 'government,'” I snorted, holding up air-quotes, “of Santa Prisca is whoever Bane picks. It's a puppet regime at best.”  
  
“Why hasn't anyone done anything about this until now?” Max asked watching as the news story cycled again.  
  
I sighed and leaned back. “A lot of reasons, honestly. Mostly because it's politically untenable. The United States has a bit of a... _reputation_ for [funding coups](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_republic#Guatemala) and [installing new governments](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Panama%E2%80%93Colombia_separation) when and where it feels like, going back...[a long time](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Banana_republic#Honduras). It's...not a [time a lot of people want to revisit](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Latin_America%E2%80%93United_States_relations#1960s:_the_Cuban_Revolution_and_the_U.S._response), even if some people think it's justified. _Especially_ if people think its justified.”  
  
“Which means everyone is just going to let Bane do what he likes,” Max growled, his fists clenching as the muted television showed continuing coverage of the ongoing conflict between the Cult of Kobra and the 'legitimate' government backed by Bane's drug money.  
  
What was more interesting to me was the group of apparent metahumans with green tinted skin, clear areas where their muscle had been exposed as the outer layers of their bodies split apart.  
  
“...and you're sure that this is related to the Blockbuster Project?” Ray asked grimly, looking over to one of our secure laptops, where I'd uploaded some of the Cadmus files for he and Max to peruse.  
  
“I ran some simulations,” I replied, drumming my fingers on the table between us. “Nothing that would hold up in a court of law, mind you, but I'm ninety percent sure that if you took blockbuster and combined it with Bane's venom drugs, you would get something that does just about that.”  
  
Ray grimaced. “So we're just going to waltz into a war between drug-running militant bastards and a crazy cult of snake people?”  
  
“We agreed on only worthy targets,” I pointed out, then jammed a thumb towards the television. “Those people are massacring civilians on either side. Even if there wasn't a war, though, Bane's government is _scum_. Military police, kill squads, the list goes on.”  
  
“So what happens? We go in, kill everyone, and then leave?” Ray asked, sneering. “I might not be the best history student, but those revolutions the US funded? Those didn't turn out so hot.”  
  
“Because the US wasn't very interested in what happened _after_ the bullets stopped firing,” I replied. “I've got...a _lot_ of money just sitting around and I'm only able to launder and spend so much of it at a time without drawing serious attention. If we intervene in Santa Prisca, we'd be able to set up a government after we clean house. A good, _just_ , government interested in serving its people. I'd mask the money we've got as charitable donations and we'd be able to get a _hell_ of a lot more done in terms of securing resources.”  
  
Ray scowled mutinously, but settled into a thoughtful pose. “I'm _not_ saying 'yes,' right? Just...I'll think about it. What about you, big guy?”  
  
Max frowned, looking between us. “It would help the people, right?”  
  
“If we did it correctly, yes it would,” I nodded.  
  
“'S a big 'if,'” Ray muttered.  
  
Max nodded once, “then we should do it.”  
  
Ray rolled his eyes at the predictable response. “What about Raven, shouldn't we be asking her about this? Because this is kind of edging into the 'crazy crusade' she accused us of.”  
  
I shook my head. “Raven wouldn't be on these missions, by her own choice. Unless she decided she wanted to go with us, she wouldn't get a vote.” I held up a hand to forestall any protest. “I'm not saying we won't tell her about this, or let her bring up objections, but it would be ultimately up to whoever's going on the mission to vote yes or no.”  
  
Ray snorted, smirking at me for some reasons. “Sure, as long as I get to be there when you tell her that her opinion doesn't matter.”  
  
I rolled my eyes. “Anyway...we also need to talk about this-”  
  
I wirelessly signaled the television to change channels.  
  
Ray leaned over, reading the band as it scrolled atop the newswoman's face. “-the assassinations are suspected of being ideologically motivated as all victims were either financially or politically linked to the recent scandals regarding the research laboratory Cadmus.”  
  
“Someone's killing off people who worked for Cadmus,” Max stated, frowning.  
  
“More accurately, someone's killing off people who are trying to cut ties with Cadmus,” I stated, turning around my own laptop for them to see.  
  
“Five scientists, two lobbyists, a fucking _senator_?!” Ray swore, looking up at me. “When the shit did this happen?”  
  
“When we were in the Tower of Fate,” I replied, scowling. “I _hate_ being disconnected.”  
  
“Dammit,” Ray growled, sweeping a hand through his hair as he leaned in to read more.  
  
“What are we going to do?” Max asked, looking torn between anger and frustration.  
  
“Right now everyone's convinced that it's a fundamentalist Christian group offended by Cadmus' 'playing God' by creating the genomorphs,” I explained, “but that doesn't take into account that _only_ those who have tried to come forward with evidence against Cadmus have been targeted.”  
  
“So it's someone looking to silence witnesses,” Ray nodded, following the line of logic easily enough. “Saw that enough with Ollie.”  
  
“But _we_ have a short list of people who could be next,” I stated, the data scrolling up. “The last murder was just yesterday, so I think we'll have a day or two of breathing room, but we need to act fast. If we want to do anything before it's too late.”  
  
“Who do you think the target will be?” Max asked, looking over the list.  
  
“I'd put even odds on [Dr. Selena Gonzalez](http://youngjustice.wikia.com/wiki/Selena_Gonzalez),” I stated, cuing up her picture. “She's the last of the Cadmus higher-ups who aren't refusing to cooperate or six feet under.”  
  
“...alright,” Ray nodded slowly. “Sounds good. Someone's trying to keep the bullshit Cadmus did quiet. That means either the Light or someone hired by them. You've got my vote on this.”  
  
“Mine too,” Max nodded, not extrapolating further.  
  
“Good,” I nodded, “now, Raven needs more time to clean things up and close out her lease. She'll meet us in New York, but we'll be taking a chartered plane to Central City...”


End file.
